The Guild of Dragons
by IndigoBirds
Summary: Fantasy AU! Lucius Malfoy finds a way to put the Patriarch of House Gresham, his family's competitor, in his debt. The Houses of the land are divided in a struggle for power, but Lucius will mercilessly bend this advantage to his benefit in the form of entry to The Guild to train his son, and the son of House Nott. Thus tipping the balance in the favor of the Houses of The United.
1. Chapter 1 -

**Summary:** Lucius Malfoy finds a way to put the Patriarch of House Gresham, his family's long-time competitor, in his debt. The great houses of the land are divided in a struggle for power, but Lucius will mercilessly bend this advantage to his benefit in the form of entry to The Guild to train his son, and the scion of House Nott, Theo. Thus tipping the balance in the favor of House Malfoy.

 **Universe:** Almost completely AU. Lots of the original characters, and the tone of the conflict is the same, but tons of things aren't the same here. Medieval-Era: all people are wizards, warlocks, mages, witches, etc. There are common-folk magical people, and wealthy wizarding families. Schooling is more of a "privilege" than it is an entitlement and is done with private tutors and by way of the family's teachings, depending on your family. There will be more on this in the story. Hermione's family name has been changed to Gresham, and there are more OC characters included. Because I can.

 **Rating:** M. Not for children or people easily offended. I was initially planning a number of adult themes, and will likely warn at the heading of the chapter for said adult-content.

These things MAY or MAY NOT include: brutality (implied, or on/off screen), some violence against women. Sex things: con, dub-con and possible non-con (I have yet to decide fully on non-con or not). Maybe self-gratification/fantasy.

I want there to be room for me to decide as I go, depending on how this story takes shape. I have a very clear idea of where the story will go, but that particulars are getting worked out in the writing. I don't want anyone to be pearl-clutching later saying "Oh my goodness!"

Suffice to say this is an adult-themed story. Swearing, deception, everything exciting in a book. I'm even going to work in some solid romance, if I can. But that's going to be a slow burn. I want it to occur naturally, and in order for the story to flow, it's going to be slow.

If you still live at home and are young enough that you need to ask your parents' permission for things; please read this disclaimed and realize that it probably wasn't meant for your age group. I cannot control what young people get up to on the interwebs, but please understand I am not posting this to ruin innocents or childhoods, or whatever.

On that note, however, I have not written fantasy in 20 years. I would like actual feedback on this work. I'd like to make it great for everyone reading!

 **Authors Note:** I do not own the characters, or the original personalities behind them. JKR has that privilege. I wrote this original story line with all of my own OCs that had nothing to do with HP in any fashion. However, after years of this story sitting on a shelf, I dusted it off and started revisions, as well as subbing out these characters with HP ones. So as a result, people like Loren and Ursa are original to my story line and are in no way related to the HP people. So yes; Ursa is named for a constellation. But she's not a Black. I was just too lazy and set in my mind to change her name. I inserted the Malfoys and other HP families in places where there were originally my own characters in this story.

Maybe someday I'll just post the original and people can decide which one they like better. But, for now, I really hope someone in this vast interweb enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Because I love me some good old fashioned D&D, and I LOVE me some HP as well.

Enjoy!

…..

Chapter 1

The summer days were almost over in the Reach, but the sun remained determined and bright as it cast its rays through the leaves that danced along the branches among the soft breezes and sunshine. It was a time that was fairly pleasant to simply wander the upper skyways of the keep, or find oneself walking toward the yard as the heat of the day crept ever upward. Such time was precious for the Lady of House Gresham, but she savored it whenever she could; between raising two children, maintaining the household and securing time alone with her Lord and husband, Ursa Gresham never missed an opportunity to savor the good weather when it was present.

The mountains surrounding Gresham Keep stretched high into the sky with sudden and jagged peaks that dwarfed the castle in their center. Protected by miles and miles of winding mountains in either direction, the sky above was perfectly blue in this early evening. Ursa smiled and closed her book on her lap, closing her eyes and savoring the warmth around her. It had been a perfect summer already, and she felt her contentment humming along her bones as her magic rippled along joyously.

Her resplendent moment was interrupted as the sounds of nickering horse soared up from the courtyard below her. The familiar sound of her husband's mount as he brought him to halt and dismount. Ursa frowned a little and opened her eyes to confirm for herself what she heard; there below her was the dark hair and eyes of her Lord and husband, Loren Gresham. His horse was coated with sweat that glistened against his chestnut coat. He had rode his horse hard and fast to reach the Keep. _Harder than he should have_ , she thought to herself. His attendants bringing up the afters of his procession were similarly put out of place. Her chin tilted to one side as she took in the character of his face; he frowned darkly, his eyes looked full of storms and rage and his brows were pulled down fiercely over them. She placed her book to the table next to her and rose without waving or calling out to attract Lord Gresham's attentions. Ursa simply swept up her gowns and walked herself decidedly towards the doors to their rooms, and out of their chambers.

From the chambers high in the Keep, she made haste to descend the steps and walks through their home to intercept her husband deeper inside the walls of their home. Sounds of household staff and various staff were being bidden away as she understood that Loren to be bidding them out of his company. She quickened her feet as she approached the double doors of Loren's private study to find that the doors were parted, if only slightly. This was Loren's way of permitting her entry inside. There was an unspoken language about her Lord that had taken only the first year of their marriage to commit to memory, and she knew this to mean her Lord and husband wished her with him.

Loren had been away a number of weeks already, and Ursa could feel her heart begin to beat wildly at the knowledge that she would be able to feel the warmth of his arms around her again. His hands and breath filled with the fire of his love for his wife. It felt like too long a time to be apart from him, and her heart ached to fall back into closeness with him once again.

While being apart for several weeks was not unusual, it was frequent that Ursa would join him on his travels. Loren took great pride in his wife; she was not only a great beauty, but she had an exceptional aptitude. The eldest of the siblings of House Allerton, her family had instilled in Ursa a great love of knowledge and learning. House Allerton itself had, on countless occasion, produced some of the greatest scholars the lands had known. Brilliant and agile minds, which Loren prized greatly in his beloved wife. Along with her relentless nature, he never ceased to find himself in utter enjoyment with her presence. But more than that; he loved her greatly for it. He valued her mind above all others.

Unlike many houses, their marriage had never been one brought forth for any conveniences. Loren had, at his earliest opportunity, pursued Ursa and done so without relent. Much to her clandestine pleasure. While she never gave him any direct affirmation that she desired his pursuit, she very stealthily cast him the errant and well-aimed veiled smile when he was near her. At a young age, such subtly was one of the only things she was allowed in the presence of any suitor, and she used this to every advantage to convey to him her encouragement of his interests.

Stolen glances and smiles turned to blushes and passing grazes of fingers in secrecy. Those in turn became tactile diversions of chaperones as they lingered together around turns in passageways and dark corners to exchange meaningful glances, and feathery touches on cheeks. The light brushing of lips in darkened alcoves that lasted fleeting moments as they absconded as quickly as they arrived. Such was the little game they created together as Loren bent his father's ear to allow him to consider a suit for Ursa's hand. Much to Loren's absolute delight, House Allerton acquiesced to the suit without hesitation. A longtime ally of House Gresham, there was little apprehension between houses to overcome in the pursuit. Terms were drawn and executed, and a marriage was accorded easily.

The anticipation that Ursa felt, and has always felt when the blaze of Loren's eyes was on her was no more lessened by the years of their marriage than it had been when they were young, and he courted her. Oh, how he loathed the traditions and stifling requirements of a courtly pursuit of her. To desire her so greatly and yet be allowed not more than the kissing of her fingers, or the touch of her wrist in his hand caused him many nights of torment. The way she partially veiled her bronze orbs to him with a slight smile to entreat him to her heart. It drove him positively mad. On the surface they parlayed in polite exchanges and discussions, but beneath the surface, underneath the little bows and curtseys, his desire for Ursa was nothing short of ungentlemanly.

Ursa swept a final corner to the large double doors of Loren's personal study. Her eyes alighted to the sight of her husband's back, and she realized immediately that something was not right in this picture; Loren never faced away from her when he returned to their House. He always faced in wait for Ursa to join him, no matter what outcomes they were to reveal to each other, no matter how long they had spent apart.

Wordlessly she swept into the room, and closed the doors behind her. Without so much as a glance Loren spoke to her in a dull and unmoved tone; "Silence, and lock them." Ursa did as she was asked and cast the appropriate number of silencing and locking charms that would prove to Loren that whatever was spoken behind these doors, it would ensure all necessary secrecy.

She approached her husband slowly, bringing herself to his side behind a sitting chair in front of the hearth within the room and looked to his face. His normally warm pallor seemed practically ashen and dull. His eyes open, but as if they weren't really seeing what was before him. Feeling the nerves tighten in her midsection, she placed her hands at the top of the wooden chair she stood behind, not more than an arms distance from her husband.

He said nothing, gave no indication that he was even aware anymore that she stood just a small space away from him. The tone of their normal greetings to each other not even lingering on their own tongues. The tension in this room gave Ursa a deepening sense of unease, but she was reticent to break the silence right away. She knew Loren better than any other could ever claim, and his composure was one that was best served in coming to her and not the opposite.

The silence had begun to feel like an eternity by the time Loren took a noisy breath in and let it back out again. Risking breaking his reverie, Ursa let a hand move out to him, to touch his right arm as she stood in her silence to respect the temper of her husband. Her fingers grazed the cold of his outer leathers, still unchanged from his journey back to the Reach. She knew that he knew completely consciously that she stood beside him, that in her silence she beseeched him to speak to her. In his eyes she could see the wordless war that was raging behind them, his brow occasionally making movements as though he would frown or scowl, but never quite fully forming the expression.

Her eyes focused on his profile; his strong nose set well in the center of his face made for the foundation of his handsome face. His eyes appeared dark in this low light, even though Ursa knew that, when struck with the right light, they were the color of the terra from with all life was sprung. When he smiled how they warmed so enchantingly. He had let his beard begin to grow in the anticipation of the colder mountain nights; along with his dark wavy hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders, they caressed the remainder of his olive skin in their darkness.

The softest of words was murmured, so much that Ursa didn't even realize they were spoken. "I-" She turned her head and waited. Loren blinked slowly, "I have failed our House, Wife." His words were so quiet that Ursa couldn't hear what he had said. Her eyes and face wore the expression of her curiosity.

"Loren, how have you-?" she started, and he moved to pull away from the touch she was only barely connected to him through.

"We will be welcoming two latecomers to Guild training this summer, it seems." She nodded slowly.

"Whom shall we be expecting, my Lord husband?"

"House Malfoy, and House Nott." He said simply. Ursa felt the blood in her face completely drain away.

"Gods Above and Below, Loren. You cannot be serious." His wife breathed out, claiming the back of the carved wooden chair with her hands. Her knuckles were white and pink with strain and she felt as though her knees would not hold her. Loren, Lord of House Gresham, hung his head in utter and complete defeat and nodded in affirmation to his wife. An action a man such as he would never, under any circumstance be caught doing in front of his Guild, or even children. His wife, Ursa, breathed in sharply at his continued confirmation. "Has word reached the children?"

"Not yet," His words came slowly and laboriously, his eyes closed. He breathed slowly through his nose, trying to keep his own emotions in check. He felt his mind boiling to the point where he felt violence growing within his mind. Ideas brewing he had not entertained since he was a younger man, filled with fires of justice and righteous indignation. Notions of fire, and blood and maniacal victories. Ah, Maturation had certainly quelled his infernos' tendencies, but his soul remained as quick to desire recompense for the circumstances.

His wife again took in air swiftly as she picked up the back of the chair sharply and gave it a quick slam into the floor. The sudden noise broke Loren out of his visions abruptly to look at his wife. Her bright eyes wide with indignation at him. "Loren, you must explain this," she paused, her beautiful face forming the word bitterly "House Malfoy? How could you allow them -? Was there no other way?" She stopped, identifying how she was winding herself into a frenzy. Her husband's eyes upon her were filled with uncertainty. He rose to claim his wife in her rising temper into his arms, but she recoiled instantly.

Anger surged through her husband at his wife's refusal of his supplication, and rejection. Ursa saw it wash over him, and felt her heart pull to her husband. She knew he would never- had never- laid any hand unkindly on her. Despite his fiery rages, he had never once dared to touch her in anger. He would never have turned his passions upon her in any other way than one designed for the fires created from heated bodies. Atop warm sheets, in exchanged of shared breathes and low moans. Many of those passions he had shared with her.

But at that moment, as he lunged for her, she felt a moment of doubt. Loren pulled her without compunction into his arms and forced her to allow him to hold her. She hardened her body, furiously refusing to allow herself to melt, as she always would, into his broad and comforting arms. She felt such an anger to him at his actions. She did not understand. His hard eyes bored into hers as she felt her words slip through her lips. "How long has Lucius known about the Cast **[1]** , my Lord? How would he have known to seek such a request?" Her eyes softened at her last question, as her implication was clear; The Gresham family was tightly guarded about their family's practices, and the presence of any outsider was regarded with unfriendliness. The only outsiders allowed to their home in the Morvan Reaches were ones with express invitations. Trustworthy and known, and certainly not ones from House Malfoy. Only someone close to their family would have told Lucius Malfoy their most closely circumspect secret.

Lord Gresham stared at his wife for moments, rolling his answers along his mind before he decided what answer he would give her. "I cannot answer that, My One. I have yet to determine where he would have learned of it. But I could not refuse him this request." Ursa bright bronze eyes looked hard at him.

"How, Loren?" She softened and reached up to palm his cheeks and seek his brown eyes in hers. "Tell me, my love." She entreated softly, loosening herself to her husband to remind him of the safety they had in each other. Loren's body sighed into her, his breath relaxing into hers and the warmth of her hands on his face brought him back to there here, to _them,_ together. She was his best and most trustworthy counsel. Her wisdom had shone as a beacon above all others when all the other possibilities seemed extinguished.

After what felt like long moments, he loosed his large hands from around her arms, coming back to himself and seeing his lady wife as she truly was; her anger dissipated, and only her questioning eyes remained open to his answer.

"Lucius has uncovered a nine hundred year old Covenant between House Gresham and House Malfoy that remains intact and legally binding. It could still be redeemed in the eyes of the Houses under the Old Laws." Ursa's eyes remained steady upon him, not daring to interrupt. "It would have sealed the Houses together in an alliance through a Sacrament between the oldest son of Gresham, Helio, and a daughter of Malfoy named Ariadne. However, the Sacrament was never fulfilled as Helio broke with the Accord in marrying a wife of his choosing from another House." Ursa drank in the information as Loren poured it forth for her, the lines of the family since that decision. One that Helio, it seemed, had not paid any regard toward. She regarded the information carefully as she pursued him again, carefully.

"Does his demand include the satisfaction of the Sacrament?"

"It has not." Loren's steady voice softened with implication. "But House Malfoy has no daughters, only one Scion."

Ursa gasped as the pieces fell into place. "No Loren, we cannot- She's – How can this still be valid after almost a thousand years?!" She cried. "We cannot bind our child to that house! Our _only_ daughter!" In her face, the desolation of what was to come rose fiercely, contorting her lovely features with utter revulsion. "House Malfoy pays no homage to the Guild itself and has no standing among us, would the remaining Guild allow this to stand?" Her hands had dropped, but their closeness together remained. The heat of her husband upon her as she had to crane her neck to keep eye contact with him in her shorter stature.

Her Lord continued, evenly. "I have persuaded Lucius to consider releasing us from the Sacrament, as they were the House wounded by the breach, in exchange for the son of Malfoy and Nott to be trained alongside Hermione and Tyt'o once the clutches have hatched."

 _Two sons._ She thought. _Two in exchange for the marriage to our daughter. Two chicks for our one witch?_ She looked at him in question. "To bond and train two of them for our only daughter, Loren?" He nodded.

"Malfoy has aligned himself with the fallen house of Gaunt. The Madman. Many other houses follow along with him. Nott, MacNair, Lestrange. I am not certain that the Guild could win against such odds were it to come to war."

This brought Ursa to exact attention. "War, my Lord? Are you most certain that Malfoy would be so foolish as to exact-" Loren's hissing answer caught her sentence short.

"As sure I am that our Cast is not ready yet!"

"The clutching will happen so soon, Loren. There may not be time-"

"I know this, Ursa." Her hand crept to his sleeve and he turned away from his wife.

"If they are not trained, and won't bond, we might lose-" Loren exploded as he wheeled back to her.

"I KNOW!"

His guilt was immediate when he saw her beautiful face wilt under the force of his anger. Tears threatened her eyes as she felt the force or his anger flood over her. In an effort to counsel him, and understand more of what they were facing, Loren felt anger at everything facing him. Her voice quieted.

"We will need to prepare them. The both of them." She stated resolutely, and looked past him towards the dying fire in their hearth as plans and machinations were stirring behind her eyes even as she spoke. She gathered her determination around her as a cloak of strength for her husband, and her children. "If we do not train them well enough, and they are not able to call a bond with any chick in the clutch, those chicks are as good as lost to us. To the Guild as riders." Ursa caught his Loren's elbow and looked at him quickly. "May we but dare to hope that there will be no such loss to us in this, Loren."

He shook his own head in uncertainty at the suggestion she made. "It is yet to be unseen, my Heart." The sigh in his words was filled with his fading determination, now clinging by a mere thread within him. Ursa saw this and felt herself steel at the waning resolves of her Lord and husband. _Their house would not be brought to heel by this; House Gresham bowed to no House, and her Lord bowed to the treachery of no man._

Loren looked to his beautiful wife as she stared into him with those bronze eyes of hers, filled with a purposeful intend. Her strength had been one of the first things that had drawn him to her, and it was still a beacon for him in any darkness they had to cross together. She was alight with her unwavering resolve.

Ursa wrapped her hand upon his and squeezed it in solidarity, its strength swept through him and filled his heart with its resolve. They would find a way to keep this from being a failure. This war had already begun to encroach itself upon their people and lands, and dallied now in sweeping their family into an unknown game, with rules they were not certain they could navigate.

…

 **[1]** Cast is what you call a group of hawks. But these are Dragons, so I'm going to burgle it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lucius Malfoy had never been one to crow his successes. It never suited to reveal ones victories when the path of your plan was not yet established. His demeanor was always one of measured releases; only impart what was needed, only reveal what was required to drawn in your opponent. Always careful and deliberate actions.

Yet this day had brought him a victory that he felt singing through the very fibers of his soul. His very magical core itself vibrated and harmonized excited triumphant melodies that even the fairest of Sirens could not weave. Lucius could feel the exultation rippling at the seams of his mind as he recanted the meeting earlier with Loren Gresham. The bold and powerful, boastful Lord of his rival house. How Gresham's eyes had dared to betray his _fear_ as he read the ancient Contract of Binding with his own eyes, and felt the knowledge that he, Lucius Malfoy, Lord of House Malfoy, would _best him._

Lucius brought a short glass to his lips and allowed the warmth of his drink to waft up to his lips, tickling the skin above his lip as if they were the tiny fingertips of fairies playing at his flesh. He chuckled darkly, delightedly, at the conquest he had dispatched.

The illumination in his study was low as he looked out the windows upon the fading evening, casting lengthening shadows along the grounds surrounding the luxuriant gardens and grounds surrounding the Manor belonging to House Malfoy. The lush greens in the light darkened to near black as the sun descended to the ground, and Lucius allowed himself a private smile.

He downed his drink and felt the warming fires flow down to his belly, warming him from within. The burning caused him to grimace just slightly. He rarely took his drink so quickly, but such an occasion was merit for a little quiet memorial for his victory today.

Lucius snapped his fingers in a summoning, and wordlessly a house elf appeared to respond to his need, shoulders slumped and eyes cast downward. "Conjure my wife, elf." He bade it, leaving no room to interpret anything other than a command. Not a request, but an irrefutable order. The elf nodded without any words; it was a rule that none of the house staff replied to Lucius Malfoy without being _requested_ to speak first. Every one of them were taught that the consequences for speaking out of turn were assured to be quite unpleasant.

The faint 'poping' sound was the sole indicator for the comings and goings of any elf within House Malfoy. Lucius gently settled his glass atop the table next to his chair and stood, fingers removing the buttons from the holes at his wrists, and then moving to the top of his coat. Each item he removed was done so with measured movements and the article folded and lain along the arm of the chair he previously occupied.

It was not long before the long and smooth door of his personal study was carefully swung open, and the slim and feminine figure of his wife gracefully crossed the threshold. Her gowns whispered around her as she walked delicately across the wide expanse of the room toward her husband. He notes her presence without needing to look at her; her movement was a specific sound to him. Muted but slippery. Her footfalls created only the slightest ' _pat pat pat'_ as she crossed the expanse of the room to him.

Narcissa Malfoy's face was a calm and collected mask lacking any expression. In closing the door simply, she walked towards her husband with her hands fixed gently together in front of her in a positively pastoral fashion. Lucius had completed the line of buttons down the front of his pressed, crisp shirt and its separation revealed his soft and pale skin underneath, hinting only slightly at the shape of his broad chest. Lucius's grey eyes glittered to his lovely wife, across her pale and refined features. Her beautiful light hair was pulled away from her finely boned face and her light eyes met his without revealing any thoughts or concerns.

"Your husband returns with tidings of advancement and glory, my dearest" he entreated her, motioning her to 'come' with his fingers as she stepped into the reach of his arms. It was in demand of her obedience, not a request. His other hand worked deftly to release the upper buttons of his breeches and he brought his spare hand to lift her chin to look up to him, his eyes seeking hers briefly before he brought his lips and tongue to the edge of her chin, drifting down into her collar, murmuring "Lend your warmth to your husband that we might celebrate."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Be still my youthful, beating heart!" Hermione cried with unrepentant amusement. Her teasing exclamation carried her musical laughter all around her as she pressed her heels into the sides of her mount, keeping his cantering pace at a delightful bounce beneath her. Tyt'o, on the other hand, was not amused at all.

"That you", she continued, alighting her fingertips to her chest as her horse circled her older brother, "should seek a _favor_ from _me_?" she finished, throwing her head back in a mockingly aristocratic sneer. Her brown curls bounced all over her back and shoulders, bound only at the nape of her neck and allowed to tumble all across the dark hood she had pulled back from her crown. The warm late-summer sun was terribly hot when she wore it, no matter how mother chided her that she should shield her fair face and hair from the elements when she rode, Hermione could never stomach keeping her head wrapped up just for the sake of appearing as a _lady_ should. Least of all in the presence of her brother.

From the ground, her brother Tyt'o grew progressively more irked by her antics and jeering. Every time she passed him in the circles she rode astride her horse, she continued her mockery of his state, and his patience with her gall was waning fiercely.

"Now now, little wren," he jibed at her affectionately as she made another pass, using the childhood moniker for Hermione that she absolutely _hated_. _Wren._ Her mirthful amusement turned to a scowl directed straight at him as she circled again, defiantly. _Tiny brown bird._ She intoned in her mind. _HA!_ Tyt'o guffawed at her inability to keep her vexation with him at bay. "Come down, little wren, and then let us speak of favors granted." He teased again, knowing that her upper hand was only for the sake of being astride a horse, while he found himself on foot. Yet again.

Tyt'o Gresham was admittedly not the most skilled of riders, this he knew. There were few horses here in the reach that possessed the correct balance of strength to carry him long distances at his size, as he also had need of them to have some modicum of grace as they did so. The bulky, muscle-bound mounts that they bred in Morvan as mountain horses were outstanding choices for any laborious ends required, but not as much for riding great stretches for any distance. The dense muscle they had in abundance simply did not translate into an animal that was suited for long enduring rides. It exhausted and irritated them to no end, as Tyt'o discovered, though through no lack of lecturing from his dear baby sister.

As Hermione slowed her bay Noriker from a lope to a jostling trot, her ease astride the animal was evident in her confidence as she slowed him expertly, never taking her focus from her brother, despite his friendly jibing at her. "How many times must I tell you, Tyt'o?" she chided him, "A draft horse is simply not befitting a ride to the Upper Reaches," she added, laughing "you featherbrained giant."

Her brother crossed his arms and painted his face in annoyance, when he really only concealed his mirth. He was nearly 19 hands and despite being on horseback, it was not much of a stretch for him to look her in the face from the back of her horse. Compared to her much smaller stature, he was quite a giant. Hermione brought her horse to a stop before her brother, and he swiped the reigns at the bit as she did to anchor her mount.

"Yes, thank you for reminding me of my own shortcomings in learning anything new, little wren." He rolled his eyes at her and she laughed again, despite his consistent attempts to further goad her with his favorite little sobriquet.

"Well, yes, but so long as you're aware of your shortcomings, _brother,_ " she emphasized "then I think there's truly little harm done." Hermione swung her leg up and over the saddle and dismounted her horse to stand beside her brother.

At an initial glance, a lingering question on relation between the two might arise; given the two were such difference sizes and coloring. Tyt'o stood as tall as their father now, and had already begun to fill in the muscle that came with daily training they had engaged in for the last 2 years. His tawny hair had grown longer than his shoulders and he drew it loosely to the nape of his neck to keep it in some assembly, but that it lacked the utter animation that Hermione's sienna colored curls possessed. Her height was much more conservative in comparison to his own, much to her chagrin, as the top of her head reached only to the top of his shoulder.

Their link was in their skin and in their eyes. Both were possessed of a dermis of a flawless buff, along with eyes the color of copper. A shade that positively radiated beneath the thick of their lashes like an inferno.

Hermione knocked her elbow into her brother's side, playfully, and he gave her a little shove to the shoulder in response. Theirs was a banter of constant play, and perpetual one-uppmanship. Since the morning Hermione came wailing into the world, a mere 10 moons behind Tyt'o, they were at permanent war with the other. A friendly one, of sorts, given the boundless love they shared for each other that was evident in their loyalty to the other. Had they been true twins, their bond would not have been more enduring than it already was: If Tyt'o was injured, it was Hermione who cried, and if Hermione was angry, it was Tyt'o who railed for her. However, this never stopped them from a constant and incessant pecking between the two.

He took the reins over her the neck of the horse for her, and she pulled her waist sack open to hand him a bit of dried meat to tear into while they walked down the mountain path back to their home many miles below them. Their plans for the day slightly foiled by the episode of Tyt'o's sturdy mountain horse (the ones ill-suited to the tight mountain paths, as Hermione had pointed out several times on their ascent to the Upper Reach) dislodging its rider in favor of a meadow below filled with blooms of honey clover and fresh alfalfa. A veritable buffet for a morsel-conscious gelding.

"Good planning that you brought this." Tyt'o motioned to the morsel his sister had shared. She shrugged and smiled as she nibbled her own.

"Of course it was." She agreed steadily and brought her hand to her brow a she shielded her eyes from the midday son to look up to his greater height. "Pity you're such a barbarian, or we could ride as a pair to the Upper Reach." Tyt'o laughed and shook his head.

"You mean pity I chose an inferior mammal to bear my burden the many miles up to the Uppers!" And they both laughed together at the little joke. Their laughter died, as they continued to walk leading Hermione's horse. She mused a moment in thought.

"Alas, then, our plans are foiled for this morning." She signed, dramatically. Tyt'o nodded.

"Likely better anyway," he mentioned, "with Imri at the nest exclusively we'd still be chancing her irascibility just to get a look at the eggs, let alone get close to them" Hermione digested the information thoughtfully.

"We don't have much more time before the clutch will be ready," she outlined. "Before long we'll be making the climb back here, but without any mounts to bear us." Tyt'o offered to the conversation as he nodding his head, imagining what the ancient ritual would look like in earnest as they ascended the ancient mountain peaks in their once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage. The idea brought him such anticipation that he felt his innards flutter involuntarily.

Hermione side-eyed him, recognizing her own excitement in the language of his body as much as her own. It was why they had hatched this little jaunt this morning, without permission or knowledge from their House or family to try to get a feel for the trails before them, and the distance they would have to travel. The quest they would ultimately undertake was one that would be solely on their own; they would have no map as to where they were to travel, no guide to provide instruction, and be prohibited from doing anything other than short-distance apparitions for reasons of safety. This segment was critical in the process of _finding_ their Dragons by nothing more than wit, instinct, and fortitude. They were to prove that they were worthy enough by being tested physically by this days-long walk through cold and bare rock, so they might be shown strong enough to take their places at the mantle of a Dragon.

"Aye, true enough." She concluded. The two slipped into silence together, comfortably processing the little morsels Hermione had brought in their mouths, the gentle hoof sounds behind them and a soft snorting of her horse being the only presence with them.

The two of them had spent enough of their childhoods spanning these trails back and forth to know almost every part of the area with at least some familiarity. The pathways up through the mountains began in large swaths cutting through the mountainsides, and eventually narrowed as a journey moved into the jagged upper peaks. The had never undertaken the long road to the Upper Reaches, or "Uppers" as they were often called: Their Cast offered no welcome to their riders to come into the heart of their breeding and nesting ground, no matter how many generations had sat astride one of them. It was only during a hatching, when the chicks were to bond with their rider that a human being would not be roasted alive, or torn to shreds if they were to amble their way into the territory of nesting Dragons. There was none in the House of Gresham who would have been so foolish as to tread without invitation or outside of the hatching time. Such an imbecilic action was taught against from the time any child was old enough to start learning of their Legacy as rider of Dragons.

Tyt'o and Hermione knew this well; they had been taught, lectured, explained and scolded at any time when they had questioned _why_ they weren't allowed to travel to their Dragons. The fact that the immense and dangerous creatures were not only incredibly territorial was evident in how lacking the Gresham lands were in attacks by outsiders. A Dragon attuned itself to their territories from a young age so that any threatening forces or unfriendly hoards were a presence that a Dragon could _smell_ and _feel_ , and would respond to without compunction. The wrath of a dragon who felt an unacceptable person or presence in their land was something to dread.

The siblings walked side by side companionably as they hiked down the wide path travelling down the mountain en-route to the larger expanses of meadows that opened up at the last slope at the base of the hills surrounding the House in the depression amid the Morvan Mountains.

Their expectation of spotting Tyt'o's pigheaded Ardennes pushing his face into all manners of edible delights was one built on common occurrence with any wayward draft animal at this time of year. The mountains could be a cruel and desolate place during any winter, often feeling empty of life as the snows layered higher with every falling. When the vernal equinox rose and warm sunshine cast out all the ice and drudge, the flora and fauna of the mountains sprang forth in almost no time whatsoever. Snowdrifts receded quickly to allow for grasses, flowers and glowing mosses to appear with the onset of moisture and warmth, and the deciduous trees in the valleys shot blooms and cattails out to tempt nature's pollinators forth once again.

Every living thing in these lands awaited that first breath of new life with great expectancy, and of all the many animals both magical and non-magical, it was always the hefty and gruff draft horses that would break to temptation first. With impetuous and consistent passion, they would often spurn their handler or rider and trounce merrily off in search of scrumptious flowers and sweet tall grasses to gorge themselves on. Their jubilant nickering aimed for the heavens in triumph as it bounded off merrily toward whatever patch of delightful greenery it was nearest, while the unsuspecting straphanger was left behind often on their back or backside wonderstruck at what had just happened to them. Moreover, it was _always_ the Ardennes that brainstormed this brand of mischief, and never the sleek Norikers that sought themselves a sabbatical.

A fact that Hermione chided Tyt'o with just before he found himself sailing through the air, and squarely on his hind end at the side of the trail, much to the bruise to his pride. Tyt'o prided himself on the strength of his body, and the requirement to master horsemanship left no room for any failing. The finesse of riding a creature was instilled in every member of the House them from their first breath. From the moment they could be swaddled to the breast of their mother and father for sun-filled walks through the lower meadows, they were acquainted with the slow pitch and heave of travel astride a horse. The mastery of riding the earth-bound beast of burden was a stepping-stone in their eventual dexterity as a fully mounted rider of a Dragon.

The two neared the last stretch of pathway, which gave way into the acres of field overlooking their family's ancestral home and the House of Gresham. Its light walls glistened in the morning light as the carved stone and masonry rose out of the very rocks beneath it in the vale amid the vast mountain range. Their home sat comfortably within the large range of mountains a day's journey from the plains and lower lands where crops and the larger portion the livestock was kept and cared for, but a cache of animals lived in the Range with the family for purposes of leisure and day-to-day needs for food.

The moseying winds manipulated the tops of the grasses around in dancing waves, dotted with colorful flowers and the bees that flew busily to visit each of them, weaving a familiar silken melody as Old Father Wind played his loving songs upon the breast of The Great Mother. The sounds of the mountain winds were practically lullabies to the ears of the Gresham children growing up, and the tune that was the quintessential theme of their homeland.

There, in the waves of green that swayed gracefully was the dark silhouette of the draft horse Tyt'o had saddled for their conspiratorial jaunt up to the Upper Reaches. His head bobbing up as he grunted contentedly, ripping up masses of grass, and various flowers. Pushing his velvety snout here and there sorting out the sweetest mouthfuls. Hermione pointed, in glaring mockery at her brother. "See your great beast, brother?" She sang to him, hoping her tone enforced her notion of his choice. "Beseech that the great brute doesn't eat himself to colic." Her eyes danced with her intentional antic at the expense of his pride, and the amusement in her copper colored eyes caused them to dance in the morning light.

The pair jibbed back and forth as they approached the horse, Hermione's mount occasionally poking his head between the two to fumble his soft lips at her shoulder before he'd try to tug the reigns lose and grab a mouthful of same pasture the bulkier draft was gluttonously pillaging. He made grunting happy little noises as he ripped, chewed, and shuffled to a new little patch, gently hunting along with his soft snuffles as he lazed along. Having had nearly an hour to quell the never-ceasing pursuit of food, the large draft horse inflected no complaints when Tyt'o plucked up his reigns, and remounted the horse in the final stretch of path down to the valley below, and Hermione followed suit.

"Not any surprise he wouldn't go farther than the first plateaus," she started, and Tyt'o tilted his head her direction to focus on her statement. "The horses have never liked going out of the valleys. The Uppers made them as nervous as long-tails in a room filled with candles." Her observation was as keen as the metaphor she compared it to; felines never scent-rubbed a candle the same way a working beast wouldn't ascend the same mountains that held one of their greatest predators: Dragons were known for snapping up lone beasts while in the wild. The idea that they would discern between wild and domestic if there were without a rider was unlikely. No horse would abide to be ridden any deeper into Dragon territories than they already lived, _especially_ the large horses.

Tyt'o's response was stalled as the horses beneath them nickered at a procession coming through the valley road below that ultimately connected the lower lands to the valley to Gresham House. Though small from this distance, the team could see a sole rider traveling before the group behind, and the horse beneath him being ridden _hard and urgent._ Astride it could have been none other than their father, Loren Gresham.

From the distance, the face was anything but clear, but Hermione and Tyt'o both understood immediately that there was no other person who would have ridden before a returning group of riders, at such a distance as to indicate his leading the band back to its roost. She shot him a glance and nudged her head toward the remaining path to return to their home. This was going to put them in the distinct position of having to come up with a reason they were not in training at this time. Slipping the care of their various tutors was one matter, avoiding their parents was another entirely. One that had always proven far more difficult than either had managed to achieve. Nevertheless, they continued to remain diligent students in the pursuit.

With her brothers horse having snacked himself utterly languid, he would not be brought to any speed outside a quick walk, and Hermione simply wouldn't consider leaving the two behind. They nudged their animals with an unspoken understanding that they would, in fact, have to come up with some explanation as to _why_ they had not been participating in their daily tutelages. The duo had shirked their normal schedule without word to any of their tutors and simply absconded the keep on horseback into the mountain paths that morning, without so much as a by-your-leave to any of their instructors.

They had unwisely assumed that time would be on their side, and their brief absence would be unnoticed if they were to only be gone a few hours. Such as it was, their father had come home earlier than they had anticipated, and they would be returning their horses to stable at the exact time his processional was. Hermione sighed at Tyt'o wordlessly, acknowledging their foolishness in her furrowed eyebrows as she bore into her brother with the copper color of her eyes. He returned her look with one of calm complacency. Such was their dichotomy; Hermione the ever-worrier, and Tyt'o the ever-calm.

The duo did not share any more conversation on the remaining trip, each caught up in their own minds with their own thoughts. As the stables approached, the two dismounted and handed their animals to one of the young stable hands that eagerly fisted the reigns of the two geldings, and bowed properly to the young lord and lady of the House. Hermione always smiled at them, and voiced her thankfulness at their endlessly good care of the animals of their home.

Once past the long avenue and into the lower courtyard, the two entered into the wide-open bailey. When there was no one there from their father's processional to greet (and chastise them for being absent from their lessons), the two shared a glance as they continued walking on to the keep.

The silence through the keep of House Gresham felt queer given the return of their father, not more than an hour before themselves. The sounds of voices as household staff were hushed and lacked the general gaiety and lack of reserve that was more normal for the home. Tyt'o looked to his sister's face in question, and she shrugged her shoulders without any words to offer him, but she jerked her head toward the grand stairs that extended upward to where the Gresham family quarters were situated in the higher levels of the House and mouthed a single word to him; ' _library'_.

The two ascended quietly side-by-side, not wishing to squander their vein of good fortune any more than they had by entering undetected to this point. Softly stepping on foot at a time without allowing their feet to slide against the stone of the stairs, they each looked over their shoulders still feeling as though their sense of security ought to be false.

"I see you've managed to find you way back," Ursa said from the landing behind them. Tyt'o and Hermione froze instantly, the copper of their eyes met briefly as they shared the same unspoken expression of a grimace. Their mother continued, "Your father waits for you in his study."

Expecting the familiar lift in the corner of their mother's smile that would set her beautiful eyes glimmering at them when she caught her two children trying to get away with something they weren't supposed to, was unexpectedly supplanted by the lines of a frown. Her posture was straight and tense, her hands rested together formally in front of her, as though she were greeting guests of the House, not as if she were addressing her own two mischievous children.

At their brief hesitance to move from where they stood frozen at the top of the stairs, their mother tilted her head slightly behind her and moved an eyebrow so subtly, one might not understand the gesture. Hermione and Tyt'o knew this one well, and together felt a cold drop in their own stomachs realizing something was terribly, unexpectedly, wrong.

Hermione brushed Tyt'o's hand with her own as the two moved in synch, never breaking eye contact with Ursa as they crossed towards her, her own eyes trained on them as they came.

Ever the inquirer, Hermione's mouth moved as though to speak, and Ursa lifted her hand immediately to her daughter in a silencing gesture. "No questions." She stated in a final tone, garnering no arguments from her inquisitive daughter.

The hem of their mother's gown whispered across the dark wooden floors before them, delicately swishing and swooshing as she led them through the thick double doors that served as the gateway to their father's study where the sound of her gowns moving around her was joined by the crackling of the fire within the hearth of the room.

Tyt'o tried desperately to keep his shoulders as relaxed as he could, but the silence from their mother was deafening. He knew that beside him his sister was certainly bursting to speak; to ask questions in her incessant impertinence when it came to knowing the what, the where, or the why. He found that even he was agitated at this rapid change in relationship with his mother, usually a warm and welcoming presence to the two of them both. It struck him then that there must be something dreadfully wrong.

Their father had removed his traveling cloaks with the fur collar and dark woolen fabric, and sat pensively, his thumb and forefinger methodically stroking his unshaven chin downward into a point. His eyes were cast downward, unseeing until his children and wife entered the room. Ursa's eyes met his knowingly and he gestured to several of the other chairs, bidding them to seat themselves. Behind then, Ursa secured the door, locking and warding it strongly behind them, making it impenetrable to prying ears and eyes from outside.

Hermione was beyond bursting! The gay motives of her morning had rounded completely into repeated disasters, and now she and her brother were sitting silently before their parents as though scrutinized for being criminals. All silence and austerity, and no warmth nor pleasant exchanges. Loren Gresham was a stern and serious man, but where his family was concerned, there had never been a time in which his hard countenance was not melted when he would return home to the open and zealous peals of joy from his daughter. They were always open-arms awaiting and smiles alight on faces to the other; his sobriety was cold and removed toward her and her brother and she felt a pang of discontent that as she sat, wriggling minutely, Tyt'o remained as a statue awaiting their fathers assured tirade about their earlier escapades.

Loren drew in a slow breath, watching his two children in from of him, flanked by Ursa in a chair beside him. Mulling over his future omission had caused a discomfort to rise in his chest the longer he considered the implications, and the more he brooded over the matter. His two children were on the cusp of adulthood now, and no longer children to be sheltered from the treacheries of life, but it caused him great sorrow to know that as a House, they faced this great challenge. That as a father, he would stand in need of their solidarity so immensely. He did not hesitate any longer.

"We have provision to change the candidates for the hatching," he allowed his pause to have greater efficacy to their ears. Hermione's copper eyes widened at her father, as did Tyt'o's. Her hand sought his without breaking her gaze, suddenly realizing ' _One of us is going to be weeded from the bonding!'_ This possibility was her most ardent terror, realized! As the sight of his children's dread, Loren understood that they believed he spoke of them directly. He continued, "In half a fortnight, we will expect the Scions from House of Nott, and House of Malfoy as the guests of our great House, to begin their training to present at the hatching to bond as Guild Riders." Loren looked from one child, to the other and added, "It is my expectation that you will assist your tutors in aiding their training."

Tyt'o narrowed his eyes speculatively at the mention of the names of these houses, but Hermione exploded angrily before he could bring any questions. "Those snakes have no place here in Morvan!" She exclaimed hotly, her expression disgusted, and confused. "Neither House has any loyalties to our Guild, and there already suitable, _trained_ candidates to present!" She emphasized. Tyt'o squeezed her hand softly to remind her to quell her anger. Hermione's explosive tempter was only matched by that of her father, so like a mirror to him she was that he often found himself smiling later in seeing first-hand how much of him he would witness in her ranting and raving.

"Father," Tyt'o entreated, more diplomatically, "Surely this late hour leave too little time remaining to properly prepare any new possible contenders to sit at the hatching to bond?"

Loren had only to look upon his wife, their mother, for her to respond in kind to him directly. "Nevertheless, my children" and she offered up a modest smile to them both, bringing back the warmth in the room as she did so. Comforting, reassuring, loving. "It is our place as the keepers and riders to ensure that _any_ bidder for a seat as a bonded rider be properly, and highly prepared before the hatching." Ursa reached to her daughter, and stroked a hand down her forearm with hope painted in her expression, entreating Hermione to overcome her hot response to the news and listen to reason. "It is better that we bring more than adequate possibilities, lest we wager a loss of the chick to the cast when it has no human to bond to." The possibility hung in the air between the four, and Hermione pinched the corner of her cheek in her teeth thoughtfully.

Ursa's eyes dashed to Loren's, already having understood the unspoken alternative in this scenario was that House Malfoy, if denied this surrogate accord, would invoke their claim to Loren's only daughter in consortium with their House. If that poisonous serpent thought himself the case to plunder their daughter into the bed of his son….. Ursa shut herself off from the thoughts of Hermione, in all her chaotic and delightful joy to be imprisoned and cowed beneath the heel of that depraved House.

Loren had entreated his lady wife to speak nothing of this furtive aspect to neither son nor daughter. In their agreement to bring them both into the fold of this revelation and change of plan, they needed both Tyt'o's determination and Hermione's passion to ensure that these two new apprentices, albeit highly undesired, were going to be pivotal in the greater picture of success. Ursa's great gold dragon, Imri, had lain four luminous and shining golden eggs; and Loren would place their safety above anything else. Hundreds of years ago, ancestors of the House established the prestige as the foremost family to have joined with the Gold Dragons as their riders, and cemented treaties and friendships with other Houses who followed suit.

"Mother, how are we to know that the wyrmlings will find a bond in either of these two insufferable shi-" she cleared her throat "young men?" Hermione's near slip into vulgarity was no way to sway her mother's opinions, and she rapidly covered her misstep. "House Malfoy has aligned with the legitimized bastard of Gaunt; a power-obsessed, bloodthirsty zealot. House Nott mimics their complacency in Gaunt's advances into the reaches and mountains as he tries to further embargo free trade among the Houses" she objected further "explain that to me? He means to wage a war, Mama. Is that not clear enough indication for The Houses in the Guild? Should we not counter? Fortify?"

Loren and Ursa shared a glance, the answer bitten back between them. It was certain that most Houses had no care to educate the females of their line beyond reasonable expectations. But as Ursa hailed from a House known widely for its academic accomplishments and contributions, negating Hermione's insatiable intellect was never even a consideration for her mother. Loren gave his brilliant daughter a wry smile at her accurate perceptions of House politics. Tyt'o assuredly shared as much; there was nary a morsel of imparted to his son that was not then heard by his sister.

"Take heart then" Ursa entreated her doubting offspring, "your fortitude and strength are necessary for your house, and the future of our great Dragons. You must arise to this need as the Scion," she looked at Tyt'o, "and the Daughter of House Gresham." She finished with Hermione, who did everything in her being to keep her rising petulance at bay, knowing that honor and pride could never truly compete in this challenge. "We will mount and conquer this challenge as the great House we are" Ursa encouraged "we will take these youths in, and they will be trained as your brothers in all ways, and will be recast as men before the ascension into the Upper Reaches."

Hermione and Tyt'o were to be cooperative in this regard, nay, emphatic participants in refining the training of the two young lords that were to arrive in short order. Tyt'o mulled over the words they had imparted, and more so what his father _had not_ imparted. _Such a drastic, risky change, so close to the hatching and bonding?_ He considered silently. _So soon, following he returns from the assemblages between the Houses?_ He recalled the conversations had with his father in the many weeks prior to Loren's travels out of Morvan and into the lower plains to join with the other great Houses in the congregation among the leaders of the Houses of the Guild. _Could Lord Malfoy have been there, too?_ He wondered.

Not realizing he had been openly staring at his father, Loren's movement broke his introspective ponderings when he straightened his body. Tyt'o looked away, back to his mother. Loren's brow sunk, nearly imperceptivity, at Tyt'o. The look he had given him; it was searching, but distant. Mulling what was unsaid behind those fire-filled copper eyes he shared with his sister. So much like a Dragon, Tyt'o was. Ever wise, ever thought-filled and perceptive. It was never possible to withhold from his son; Tyt'o had a way about piecing together the truths from empty spaces and whispers unspoken. It left Loren wary at the possibility that he would hash out the actuality, and menace facing them sooner than Loren was ready for him to.

It was no great secret, certainly. Nevertheless, knowing Hermione's temper and Tyto's increasingly protective temperament where his sister was concerned, it would be of no benefit to impart the fact that if this failed, Lord Lucius Malfoy would be within his rights to beckon Loren's daughter to be joined to his own son. Loren would not, could not, allow this to happen. To deliver his daughter into the den of the men conspiring to unseat the fellow Houses across the land was unthinkable. The safety of his family, their Dragons, and their lands and people were what Loren guarded as the Lord of these lands, and this House.

He looked upon the faces of his two children and felt his heart ache at what they were tasked with now. To welcome sons of warring Houses into their lives; to entreat them to their families table as equals, to strengthen them and fortify them to the very limit of possibility, and present them at the first hatching in near 20 years….. Loren felt a sudden rage in his mind build unthinkably fast when it dawned on him: Lucius Malfoy had bidden his time, and planned his attack so impeccably. The treachery was clear as day. Now that there was a suitable uprising within the Houses against each other, it was the crowning time to cross the lines to the enemy and unseat them where it would cleave Loren's heart from his chest: The possession of one of House Gresham's prized Dragons. Or else the nuptial rights of his beloved daughter to the son of a man utterly without conscience or scruple? There was no victory in his choice. There was no lesser evil. Men had gone to war for less than this, Loren knew.

Ursa's hand gently at his elbow brought Loren crashing back into reality from the where he ruminated in his mental indignation. The bronze in her eyes alight with the fire in the room, highlighting the waves in her hair around her face, she beckoned him back to her with her smile. Strong in its gesture, and soft in her femininity. He longed to hold her to him again, to forget the entanglements of his life as a Lord. To feel the softness of her skin in his rough palms, and taste the salt and sweet of her body once again. It had been too long since they had shared in the joys of their love, and he longed for her in that brief moment. His capable and enduring wife.

"Their arrival with harken a tour de force within this House," Loren looked at his children, their eyes to him beckoning his guidance. "We will double efforts to prepare them both with tutors and the guidance from you both." He motioned to them together. "They are to be guests of the House, and treated as such, regardless of political upheavals as of late," he offered, a bit lamely "It is our commitment as the House of Gresham to see this succeed, no matter what needs to be done."

He stood, squaring his shoulders and straightening himself regally, regaining his composure in the face of his children. Ursa stood with him, and opened her arms to her son, who had grown so much taller than she, as though he were still a boy in his golden youth. Tyt'o sunk into the arms of his mother, his chin in her shoulder and face into her hair. Her arms were tight and urgent around him, and without words from her he knew that there were many things left unsaid that were pertinent to understanding what was truly going on, but he said nothing. Tyt'o spoke softly into his mother's ears of his love for her, and his commitment to his duty as her son, and the future Lord of this House.

Hermione crossed over to her father, in his grandeur he towered over her and she looked to him to confirm his affection for her. He swept her to him in his great arms and lifted her into his chest adoringly, feeling suddenly a fierceness and urgency that was intimated in the silence they shared. "I love you, Papa." Hermione whispered. "We _will_ do as you bid, and we will succeed." Though she loathed delivering promises in cases where she knew not why it was required, she offered it to him, committing her mind and stamping out the need to question, and discover. Loren kissed the top of her curls below her chin.

"I know you will, my little warrior." He whispered their private pet name into her scalp as he held her.

….

When the sun had sunk below the mountains and the light had melted from the sky, hours after dinner was eaten and when the great doors of the House were closed, and locked, and the presence of the staff, and house elves had all gone. Clothes already stripped and tucked away, Loren stood over his wife, her arms encircling him into the warmth of her body, joining them again in their nakedness.

The heaviness behind the brown of his eyes betrayed the passion that pressed into her midsection and she lifted her hand to his cheek as a silent tear slid from his eye down into his growing beard. The weight of what he carried in his heart was far greater a burden than that of the neglected passions of their bodies. Ursa drew him downward into their bed atop her, nestling his head into her naked breast, her hair encircling them together. As the wet of his tears flowed silently onto her skin, she held him tighter still to her, in silent solidarity to remind Loren that she would guard his vulnerability with her love for him.

…..

 **a/n –** super sorry it took me so long to post this! We moved, and life got away from me. Hope you enjoy the belated update!

Hope this is filling-in the dynamic well enough! If you have the time/inclination, tell me what you think! What did you like, what didn't you like?

I hope that now that we are moved and settling in, I'll be able to work on this more. I am dying to get this story out of my head!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The bumping of uneven ground beneath the carriage was simply _intolerable._ Three days journey from sun-up to sundown in this esoteric _seed-pod,_ being pitched back and forth without end, all day,to deliver them to the Gresham House. _A wizard should have apparated himself to the front_ _bleeding door,_ thought Draco Malfoy as he stretched a leg out across the seated bench to the opposite side.

The incessant motion of being bumped and rocked was enough to make a man scream his lungs raw to the heavens. Draco straightened his back for the umpteenth time in the last three days since piling into this bare heap of wood and shabby padding, and he groaned theatrically.

"Remind me again how these peasants deign to dictate how we travel?" He groused to his companion.

Theodore Nott raised his head from his fist as he had his attentions to the window, regarding the scenery as they had entered the endless roads through towns, and back into the plains, and various woods along their journey to the Morvan Mountains. He turned to Draco "For the third time, Drake, it wasn't exactly outlined," he huffed "it was one of the few details my father _actually_ left out." Theodore shrugged his shoulders a few times to loosen the muscles. This endless dance of bounces and rattles was leaving him in a state of absolute ill comfort. Draco rolled his head in a circle and stretched his arms.

"Load of horseshite this is," he jerked his head toward the coachman of their horse-drawn carriage. "Any fool with the salt to tell his arse from a hole would know we could have apparated" he tossed his head with a sneer on his pale lips and leaned back. The arduous journey was nothing short of unnecessary; _they were wizards._ Travel was solved with the focus on your destination, a simple incantation followed by the wave of your wand, and voila, there you were.

"So your father did not broker you a reason why we couldn't apparate?" Theodore questioned. Draco motioned his head in the negative.

"You imply my father endowed me with more information _than was absolutely necessary_ " he spat. "his cards are invariably close to his chest, lest anyone cheat him in the game". Theodore gave a cagey nod to his companion. What the blond man gave away and what he knew were surely different commodities entirely.

Theodore had been taken into his father's private chambers only a few days prior to be educated on the plan, from the perspective of Thoros. An older man when Theodore was born, his father was a great deal more removed from Theodore's day-to-day, allowing tutors and governesses to have handled his sons more formal upbringing. Time spent alone with his distant, cold patriarch was unusual, and uncomfortable. Theodore held a great deal of esteem for his father; a lifetime of investigation and tutelage in magic had made him a formidable wizard, indeed. But a warm, and loving sire, he was not.

He'd left no room for Theodore's opinions on the matter, but told him solely what to expect from the family of Gresham House. "Old House," he said in his gravely, deep voice "Loren Gresham is a man with a soft-heart for his family, and a stickler for the Law." He narrowed his eyes at Theodore. "You can use that." Theodore had simply nodded his understanding. "Keep close eye on the Lady," he drew a finger and pointed "She is an Allerton, and that House breeds no fools. She'll pin an extra eye on the two of you, see to it that you can deflect her suspicions of you.

Thoros lifted his chin and leaned back in the chair he had been sitting in, Theodore still standing before him, a youth growing into his manhood, tall, wiry and agile. He had his mother's eyes, and Thoros had always found it difficult to look into them for any length of time. It always brought back memories he wished he could rid himself. Pictures in his mind of his beautiful wife, their son before him an echo of her beauty, and her life cut short suddenly. He despised seeing her in him; and he rarely took company with his son because of it. Truthfully, Thoros was no man who felt love in him for his offspring; conceiving Theodore was a duty to him and nothing more. Now, as a man, Theodore served not only to further the future of the house, but would serve well as a pawn in tipping the scales in the favor of his Lord and Master.

No, Thoros had only ever had one such time in his life when the fluttering in his heart had stirred, and his pulse had quickened with joy. The feeling of his young palms sweating when he first saw her, how her hair had shone in the sunlight, and when she smiled at him, how it felt like a thousand sons painted the sky for the both of them. Those years were long past, and his wife's body had long ago been entombed in the crypt below the keep of House Nott, having left Thoros without any warning, a mewling bundle of infant that he felt bereft of any feelings toward.

"Will there be anything else, My Lord?" Theodore had inquired formally, remaining stoic in the face of his sire. Thoros pointed his finger to Theodore's chest, his eyes hardened and his voice steeled. "Watch closely the Malfoy boy," he offered, "his father's ambitions are that of our Lord's, but young Malfoy is a braggart and a spoilt brat, and imagines himself the ringleader in this scheme, but his ego will be his undoing." He eyed his son speculatively. "There will be no failure here, boy. You will see to it that plans prosper."

The omission was unexpected; House Nott and House Malfoy were allies. Trusted counsel to the Lord of House Gaunt. Theodore was well acquainted with Draco and his frequent self-admirations. Theodore reserved the commentary offered to him for a later time.

Seated before him, Theodore examined his companion; a long-time friend of his House, Theodore and Draco had been reluctant cohorts through their fathers. Draco's gray eyes had betrayed nothing more than what he had explained. His refined features were set in a mask of indifference as he gazed in supposed boredom out the window of their carriage. Theodore buried his wariness of his compatriot beneath a view of feigned ignorance and moved on from his memories.

 _Dragon riders_ he thought to himself, in awe, suppressing a shiver beneath his cloak. Theodore was no stranger to the skies, but the picture in his mind's eye of the air hitting his face as he surged through it astride the moving, living mass of a dragon….. He had never even _seen_ Dragons, let alone a person riding one. It seemed a fanciful idea, at that.

"What did your father tell you, Drake?" Theodore entreated his companion. Draco had not offered a great deal to Theodore to this point, but based on what his father had told him, and what he already knew through experience, this what Draco knew, and what he let on were not mutually exclusive.

Draco looked at his nails in assumed boredom. "Not anything in too great of detail," he scraped the inside of a short nail for imaginary particles "solely that we are to get Dragons, and fly the bumbling beasts home. Once we've returned, they'll be surrendered to His Lordship, and our task will be fulfilled." His grey eyes looked out the window calmly, his face still devoid of any indications to assume otherwise.

"What of the House itself?" Theodore inquired, lightly. Now, Thoros had not offered any information to this topic. Loren; yes. A soft man with little resolve perhaps. The wife, to be wary of and avoid suspicious behaviors. But whom else? Theodore knew the House had children of its own, but not how many, nor how old. The Houses Aligned to the Lord rising from House Gaunt had not had any social contact to any houses in the alliance of the Guild Houses in one score and six years, merely terse meetings held by the House Lords, and never in the company of wives and children.

Draco was good at this game, but he was trying too hard not to give anything up, Theodore acknowledged in his head. He did not press for anything else, let Draco think his answers were sufficient to satisfy Theodore's curiosities and file the response away for a later date.

Theodore leaned back against the padded wall behind him, knocking his head a few times discontentedly. The stifling air inside was starting to get to him, and he leaned himself to the window to look out again. Keep his mind moving and in other places than the stagnation of this expedition. It was at that moment he saw along the horizon the jutting peaks of the Morvan Mountains, almost misty and blue in the distance. Theodore smirked impetuously. "The Mountains are in sight finally." He offered to Draco, who righted himself and shot over to the opposite window, almost desperate to crawl out and witness with his own eyes. Their sojourn was wearing down his icy exterior a bit; their mutual distress in their journey had left them more irritable and their guard worn more than expected. Draco made a noise in his throat in his impertinence.

"Finally" he huffed, leaning back into his seat across from Theodore. "I'm already imagining a warm bed with my body fully horizontal." The Nott scion continued to further drink in the vast stretch of mountains, the road below the carriage bearing them straight into their craggy and rugged embrace. The mountains peculiarly sprung themselves straight from the earth below without and playful hills prior to lend any buffer, only rock face soaring into the skies from the earth below, reaching into the blue heavens above to claw at the atmosphere.

Theodore rolled his head slowly around in a circle and rested his arm along the still of his window, reposing his head on his forearm. A little breeze picked up along his face as he still watched the distant mountains before them, wondering how much longer it would take them to reach the castle of House Gresham within the mountains.

The air soothed him, though the occasional crosswind brought the less desirable aromas of egesta from their horse-drawn transport. With the sun overhead, the air was drier than he was accustomed to. His home was situated much like the Malfoys in the South, and nearer the coast where there were frequent morning fogs, rains for days and cooler weather in the night. The sun overhead beat down on his face and his pasty complexion with an unforgiving heat he was not totally used to. His dark hair falling over his eyes in the front, which he pushed behind his ear. Malfoy's sigh across the interior of the carriage reminded him that he still could not completely lose himself in his thoughts with his compatriot so easily annoyed.

The paid carried on in near silence through that day, mistakenly assuming that the appearance of the broad range of mountains before them meant that their passage to Morvan was winding down. When the sun had slipped down to the end of the sky to slip behind those great mountains –now larger than before, but curiously much father from them than they presumed- the arrived in a smaller town, with the bustle of folk residing there packing up their livery and stalls from markets, and companionably quieting themselves about.

At the driver slowed the animals burdening their entourage, Draco rapped a hand to the ceiling "You out there!" he hailed the driver. He received no reply, but the abrupt yanking open of their door with a gruff voice from outside –a domestic chauffeur from House Gresham with a thick beard and dark hair, pulled back at the nape of his neck.

"Rooms await ye inside, m'lords" he ground out, not waiting to hear their response as he climbed down from his perch to attend the four dark horses drawing them through the long journey. Draco wrinkled his nose at the opened door, unamused by such a casual display from someone so clearly at the station of a serf, or menial.

"You, sir," he called "where be the valets? The coachman?" The man chuckled with his back to the door, Theodore could see already that there was no grand processional as Draco was assuming there would be in tow with them. The man barely looked back to them as he smoothed his broad and rough hands astride one of the great horses, voicelessly communicating his presence to the gelding, soothing its side as he stood there. In his touches he thanked the animal gently, paying it consideration as his large hand started working the straps to the harnesses to release the animals one by one, a soft cloth appearing from his person to wipe away the days moisture from his coat. The soft combing along the whetted hairs of the animal as he signed in little spurts, clomping his enormous hoofs into the dirt again and again. The other three mammoth animals all nickered and blew air from their noses at the carriage man impatiently. He chuckled lowly and murmured words neither could hear from inside.

"They be expecting you inside, lads" he called to them from the ground. "Ye trunks are at the door." Draco snit unattractively, the corner of his lip raising to his nose and he looked at Theodore expectantly, gesturing to the open door with no attendant perched outside it, poised to receive their whim or command. Theodore rolled his eyes and drew himself out the door and upright down the small stairs to the ground. He realized again at that moment that the ground much lower than it felt like when a person was cooped up inside. He glanced to the man busying himself with the care of his horses; the man stood more than a head higher than himself, and wore a light leather sleeved tunic which fitted his boundless shoulders. His size rather fit that of those creatures that drew the carriage forth; he mused to himself and walked onward to the door of what appeared to be an Inn. "Ready at sun-up again te'morrow den." The man called behind Theodore, reminding him of the schedule they'd kept these two days.

He swung open the door and registered that Draco had followed him out of the carriage. With how long they had spent in the damned thing, Theodore would have presumed that Draco would have jettisoned out of it at the first sign of a stop, but he had held himself imperiously back awaiting his usual flourish of attendants. As he stood completely alone save but the company of the carriage man –whose name was never once offered- Theodore came to understand quickly that there was no such subordinates in tow at this juncture.

Stepping into the Inn, there were only a few peoples in within, the ceiling vaulted upward at a far wall where disembodied antlers from wild beasts were mounted in a seemingly random array. The walls around him were of plan, rough wood, and the floor even less remarkable. Behind a bar was an older man, and a younger woman with a smile worn with lines and long dark hair. The man hailed him with the lift of his palm and gestured to stairs at the side of the room beyond the many tables. With a word Theodore had grasp his trunk, and the wave of his wand, miniaturized it into his palm and strode passed to where the man gestured.

He smiled briefly at the young man "Name's Hendry, sirs" he bobbed his head. "Rooms have been prepared and turned down. Warm food for ye when ye require," Draco sided with Theodore, not liking that he had been first through the doors. His inclinations were to maintain yourself as the figure to head the troupe, not to follow behind as an underling. Draco scrutinized the man in his shabby wears, stained with food and toils in distain. _A disgusting people out here_ , he noted, _all grubby and unkempt_. His eyes wandering to the woman, who similarly bore signs at her elbows of wet, and a rag at her waist that left little to be assumed at its purpose. Though she beamed at the other end of the bar to patrons as she readied new mugs to be filled, her appearance was so unrefined that Draco simply turned back to the man, Hendry he said his name was, and spoke no response.

Theodore nodded his thanks, "These stairs, then?" Hendry agreed, pointing again, giving them a light smile.

"Just to the top of the stairs, doors are open".

The pair ascended the wooden stairs up to the next floor, and their rooms sat open and waiting for them, one assuredly as lackluster in their resplendence as the other, Theodore simply strode into the one closest to him, glancing over his shoulder to Draco at he entered the other. He could not conceive that the Draco could be, in any way, hoping for company at they ate, dressed and made ready to sleep for the night. He was not wrong; The Malfoy air shut his door behind him and Theodore did not hear another noise out of the room until the next morning.

As he was finding his way between the sheets later that evening, his bedclothes donned, food eaten and warm mead drank, he found himself looking up at a wholly unremarkable wooden ceiling, roughhewn beams above him, and white walls desperately needing another coat of wash in his small room, playing in his imagination with a scene high in the bright sky. The sun blazing and warm and the air whipping around him wildly. He percolated again as he thought how, when one rode astride a broom, the air was a wild creature you could barely contain as you barreled through it. In his musings, before he shut his lids in repose he considered that there was likely no comparison when regarding what the the back of a Dragon would feel like.

As the sun rose itself closer to the horizon at the plains, drenching the mountains at the West in its light, Theodore found himself waking with no prompt. His long body draped unceremoniously along the narrow bed, almost to the point where his limbs were ready to start dangling off.

The inn below was quiet, but there was stirring above as people moved, and walked and spoke softly in the morning. There were two sharp knocks at the door and Theodore sat up, stretching his tight back and lifting his arms overhead. With a great yawn he mouthed out a response somewhere between a "yes" and a "what". He could hear Draco chuckle from the other side.

"By your leave, your Majesty, but we simply must be going." He said through the door. Theodore groaned at Draco's constant snarking. It seemed that if there weren't complaints he was voicing, it was annoying jabs he was making. He busied himself with dressing, pausing only to splash some cold water at a basin at the side of the bed. Donning his clothes again and using a simple sorcery to clean out his mouth, he opened the door. Draco Malfoy was casually leaning in the frame of the door looking immensely put-upon. "Quite ready then, your Nobleness?" Theodore frowned.

"And here I thought you were here with a tray for breakfast." He threw back. Draco scowled and shoved off the frame.

"Not in your lifetime, or mine." And Theodore chuckled, going back only for his shrunken trunk, and he shut the door behind him as they descended the stairs. The same woman from the night before was there tending to a table with customers, though the two bade her no friendly farewells as they headed out the door, and she offered them nothing of companionable partings either. Theodore wondered if she knew already that they from the South, and they were not part of the Guild here in the North.

Outside the door to the inn was the open door at the carriage outside, open and waiting for them to climb inside. The beast-like man with his dark and heavy beard at the helm, the broad shouldered horses tethered into their harnesses, rested and ready for the remaining stretch. Theodore hedged a quick bet with himself and called out to the carriage man. "All day today, again, is it?" He tried. The carriage man's head turned to him, not having expected any outreach in conversation. The man eyed Theodore before as he stood on the steps, holding the frame of the door in his hand to see if the man would make any response.

"Past the midday." He offered simply in his gruff and deep voice. Theodore thanked him with a nod and entered, shutting the door behind him. Draco had already nestled himself into the padding of the seat at the front, his booted foot resting on the lip of the chair. He held a red apple up to his lips and crunched noisily on it. He produced another one and offered it to Theodore without any conversation. He took it and thanked him, Draco shrugged as he worked on through several more bites.

Despite that both of their fathers served the same man who had resolved himself the self-titled Lord of The Houses, neither boy in the carriage had a relationship to speak of with the other beyond the political alliances created through the reigning Lords in the Southern Houses. Not having grown up with anything outside a nurse-maid or governess, Theodore wasn't accustomed to forcing talk with boys his own age when his father's social circle consisted solely of wizards covertly laying plans within plans in various plays for power. This was the first time he had ever travelled to the North, and Draco seemed utterly disinterested in creating any sort of companionable means in which to bear this drawn out journey. Theodore hadn't the faintest inkling of how to _just_ talk to someone. Anyone.

Languidly, he draped himself back along the sill of the window, staring quietly at the distant mountains, noting that they had grown in height since he had first spotted them. The rattling of chains and grunting of horses at the fore of the carriage in a perpetual melody. _It is entirely too early to be this bored._ He concluded.

…

 **A/N:** The word 'score' is an old word for 20. So one score = 20. One score six = 26.

In response to the review from Guest:  
Thank you! I am greatly looking forward to writing more of the interactions! I've kept the pairing vague intentionally, because it's going to be a slow, slow process in the telling (but yes; I'm going for a Dramione). However, you will have to be patient.

So a couple of things to note: I shaped Theodore/Theo as there's no real precedent for him in the books.

You might notice that a few people are OOC if compared with the books (Narcissa, Hermione, maybe some other people down the road who haven't made any appearances yet). This is how I'm making them for this story, because 'I do what I want' (lol. But seriously tho). Just fair warning so peeps aren't comparing them too much thinking I didn't get the character correct.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Loren looked at his wife appreciatively; the dress she had chosen revealed the line of her collarbone down to a very modest point on her chest and the very implication of her shoulders. Blue and gold brocade flowed down the front of her elegantly in a complimentary swath of decoration surrounded by complimentary blue fabric that hung to her feet. The sleeves long and encased her arms to her wrists, which concluded the gown with more delicate blue and gold brocade near her wrists. Ursa was the very definition of beauty, where Loren's mind was concerned. She smiled at her husband as she caught his watchful eye, and he back at her. "Rather be alone?" She teased him very quietly and he leaned toward the woman he loved just a fraction, though they all stood side-by-side in wait of their impending guests.

Hermione caught the implication and rolled her eyes, having skied the exchange between her parents. She feigned disgust at their subtle glances to the other. She straightened her index finger and poked it rapidly into her brother, he jerked away. "Aaaah, what, wren?" He chided and looked down at her from the end of the line of the family. Ursa and Hermione were flanked by Tyt'o at one end and Loren at the other beside his wife.

" _They're doing that thing again,"_ she hissed at him through her teeth and he made a scoffing sound at her.

"Displays of love is not 'doing that thing'" Tyt'o squared himself up again. His mother leaned forward to look past her daughter.

Ursa beamed without looking at her children, and the hand closest to Loren sought him out, gently touching the leather of his belt nearest her hand. He caught it in his, and raised it to his lips in a kiss. Ursa looked to her son Tyt'o as her smile broadened, and she returned her attentions to her husband. Tyt'o was in his 17th year, and well-past the squeamishness of bearing witness to the shared affections of his parents. Given more freedom himself to cavort within any sister Houses within the Guild, he would normally be in pursuit of a Lady of his own, were it not the case that his time was otherwise consumed with training in preparation of their families hatching Dragons.

Hermione, it seemed, had no such care to be appraising of her progenitors amorous displays. If Tyt'o's experiences with members from other Houses was lacking, then it was even more so that Hermione's was nonexistent. She would never dare to say this aloud, but the suspense of these two _interlopers_ coming to their house was leaving her fraught with anticipation. She felt with certainty that she and her brother were far enough along in their training that within the remaining months coming they would find their plateau. Having to take on the training of these two wizards –supposedly their own age- and supplement their own mastery as well? Hermione wanted to take her capable fist and box something with it. Hard. She did not like setbacks, and she didn't care to suffer the company of dimwits. She chuffed discontentedly, and Tyt'o gave her a sidelong glance.

Far down the road, the carriage conducted by their family's horse master had drawn into view. To ensure the safe travel of their guests from the safe-point to the halls of Gresham's castle and keep, Loren had called upon the horse master to see the Malfoy and Nott sons to them directly. Each animal, a large and healthy beast, appeared small specks from this distance to her eyes as she fixated on them, willing the time to go more quickly, so she didn't have to keep standing her, uncomfortably, waiting like a sentry. Hermione's mind floated away from where she stood, at the side of her family waiting for their guests to thoughts of her normal quiet household. How the table they sat at, filled with laughter, stories, and mirth, would be affected with presence of rivals to their house. With exception to the last few years of intense study; the House of Gresham was a warm and welcome place. Many summers had been passed with allies of the House in attendance both here in Morvan, and elsewhere within the lands. To House Longbottom, or Brown they would often travel to reinforce alliances and friendships forged and sustained through the houses who sat at the table of The Guild. The children allowed to forge friendships and learn from the tutors and instructors of the house in magic and academics.

The Guild of houses, Hermione knew, had long aligned themselves together in the pursuit of rightful ideals and practices, though not every House in the land was part of this venture. No, many years past there was a great breach among many of the Houses based on power struggles, greed and deception that lead to a separation that had never been repaired. Almost a dozen Houses had split themselves from The Guild and left their ancestral seats of the Counsel, and had formed their own covenant together, but under one House. A dark House. She allowed her grimace to creep up to her face out of her mind as she rolled the name along her tongue, _Gaunt._

From an early age, Hermione had been captivated with her mother's nighttime tales of the histories of the Houses of the Lands. Tyt'o would have fallen asleep long before, but Hermione would be curled into her mother's warmth many hours into the night begging her mother ' _more, mama, more!'_ as Ursa would smile at her knowledge-thirstful daughter and tell her another story of the great houses. The great Dragons and the stories of their family's great history as Dragon riders.

Tyt'o could see little movements in his sister's face next to him from the corner of his vision. In silence, he reached her hand with his and grasp it softly. His touch spoke everything to her in that second when they connected. Reminded her that it was _he_ who grounded her with this silent show of solidarity. Her brother, who-would-be-a-man, who would forever bring her back to the ground when her mind swept her far away in thoughts and worries. Hermione smiled her thankfulness at his gesture.

The carriage delivering their opponents had drawn quite closer so that the face of their horse master could be seen in better view. His broad shoulders hunkered a little over, reigns resting in his hands. His hard hair was dusted with flyaway earth and cheeks dusted with the kisses of sun from the last days of outdoor exposure. His mouth, set to a line, turned up at the sight of his Lord and the family standing beside him. They had reached the end of the stone bridge that drew the road straight into the heart of the House, and their horse master guided the carriage in through the broad doors and through the turn to stop at the foot of the steps before the keep. Unlike a formal party, this received no fanfare and there were no attendants nor announcements of the parties or their affiliated familial names: This was a quiet arrival in comparison with any other.

Hermione squeezed her brothers hand and she let it go, chiding herself in her foolish impatience. Her chest had tightened and she felt a rush of unexpected panic at this uncertainty as the reality washed over her: she and her brother were going to have to take in the sons of opposing houses, and train then to ride _their_ Dragons as though they were her own brothers. A sour taste gathered along her tongue and she fought to spit it out onto the stone. Were she to have her druthers, she would have spat it into their eyes at this _farce_ of an agreement.

A valet at the foot of the stairs opened the door formally and the horse master disembarked the driver's seat to attend the working horses in front. When the words "Son of the House Malfoy; Draco" and "Son of the House Nott: Theodore." were spoken, it was several seconds before the first head emerged from the door to the passenger car. Draco took the first exit and emerged with his pale blond hair shining first like a beacon. Its light quality caught Hermione entirely by surprise; she had never seen hair that color before in her life. His features were so classically aristocratic with his defined jaw and straight nose that it was difficult to look anywhere else. But his eyes were an entirely other matter. They were light like she never knew possible. Gray as storm clouds and just as cold. His gaze was fixed to her father as he brought himself up the stairs towards the Lord of the House.

The second youth exiting the carriage stood quite tall; his hair was dark brown, straight and to nearly to his shoulders. He looked forward and straight to Loren Gresham, seeming to identify him immediately as he stepped forward and up the stairs to approach him behind the blond, with his near-white hair and cold face. Hermione couldn't see his eyes quite clearly and cast her eyes away again trying to maintain some semblance of propriety before strangers she still had not met.

The blond reached a step below that of her father, and gave a short bow with his eyes fixed on her Loren's. "Draco Malfoy, my Lord, son of Lucius". Loren nodded and gave a nod to acknowledge him. He did not extend a hand in friendship to Draco, but his face shifted to Theodore when he came beside his companion.

"Theodore Nott, my lord, son of Thoros." Presenting his bow, Loren nodded again.

"I am Lord Gresham, head of my House, and I welcome you Draco, son of Malfoy" he turned his head between them "and you Theodore, son of Nott, into our home. You will be as our guests and family and afford all comforts and protections of our House and family." The boys nodded and thanked Loren individually, and formally. Politely, even, as though this wasn't some political maneuver that Loren Gresham was on the losing end of.

Nevertheless, as the Lord of the House, Loren would not treat a guest without welcome. He turned slightly to Ursa and she dropped into a ladies curtsey, and extended her hand. "The Lady of the House, and my wife, Ursa." Draco noted immediately that her eyes had never left him, and still trained on him wordlessly as he brought her hand to his mouth to kiss just above it. Formal, respectful, and distant, but they burned into him all the while.

"My lady" was all he said to her as she silently withdrew her hand and she extended it to Theodore. He emulated as much, cautiously and stiffly. The tension in the air could have been broken apart and fed to the birds, Tyt'o thought as he held himself straight. His father spoke his name to the youth and Tyt'o nodded only once, and spoke nothing. Draco Malfoy found himself again scrutinized under the weight of eyes he'd never seen the likeness of. Bronze and full of fire. He recalled the glare the Lady Ursa had on him and saw the distinct resemblance in their intensity.

It was then that his eyes fell on _her._ Standing to the side of her brother, Hermione was nowhere near as tall as her brother or father, almost a slip of a girl by his assessment, and certainly nothing very special as far as he was concerned. Though she was clearly a member of the House, despite that she stood before them in the almost identical outfit that her brother wore. Upon her was a tunic down to her knees cut for riding atop thick breeches and boots to her knees of a thick and tooled leather. In contrast to the elegant gown upon her mother, the daughter was standing before them in permissionto wear the garb of a man. Draco found this quite laughable; no lady he had ever met would have dared herself to be seen in less than her best dresses. _What else could be expected from a House like this?_ He mused to himself.

Her eyes met his and her mouth moved as she pinched her cheek speculatively. She moved to Theodore motionlessly beside him having heard her name spring forth from her father's mouth in introduction. Hermione offered them no hand as the three sets of eyes speculated each other warily.

Theodore wished he could steal a glance back to the Lady to compare the look in her eyes with that of her daughters. He considered her briefly in her outfit; no pretenses or shows of wealth, nor station. Simplistic and almost utilitarian. The words his father had spoken to him reverberated in his memory about the mother. He mused to himself if the daughter would prove similarly disposed to dogging him?

The polite exchanges of introduction satisfied, Draco and Theodore were both brought into the House together behind the family. Though, by no means considered poor, the inside of the keep was simple and not ornate it was mostly decorated with warm woods, smooth stones and the banners with the House colors of gold and white. Not like the halls in some of the Houses Theodore and Draco were used to. A sneer crept across Draco's lips as he took in the _simplicity_ around him in the décor. Despite that no one seemed to be observing them directly, Theodore held himself in far greater reserve than his compatriot, carefully taking in his surroundings without judgement or conclusion.

Draco was far less discerning about his opinions on how the Gresham's kept their house as was evident in his imperial glances at the lack of showmanship. Their valet showed them quietly to a set of guest suites adjacent to each other, though also on the same floor as the two Gresham children, Tyt'o and Hermione.

Draco considered the two for a moment; the son, who stood taller than he, had given him nothing. Just empty staring. Hermione, with her curls and boys clothing, seemed an annoyance at best. He felt a little smug in his decision that neither one was going to have any formidable opposition to his designs.

Neither guest had very much to say to the other, though they observed each other briefly before entering their respective rooms to retire for some hours prior to a supper served, as they were instructed to attend, in the great hall downstairs. Neither one of the Gresham younglings had come up with them. Theodore nodded to Draco, "Until supper then." He stated simply, and closed his door behind him.

…

Tyt'o's footfall was as quiet as he could make it over the stones with his soft-soled boots, which was decently silent enough considering it seemed that the entirety of their family castle had ears. He minded each step carefully and cautiously, as he knew Hermione did behind him. Together they made their way down through the lower passes into the passageways that would take them back out to the stables. Once out of the main halls, they made their way into the stables once again, checking any available corner for staff or anyone else who would take heed of them being there.

Tyt'o shut the door to a smaller barn behind him, and looked on to his sister. She did anything but hold back.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiit!" Hermione drawled out and kicked a bucket along the floor, sending ropey waves of slimed water sloshing in the wake. "How in all the burning realms of the underworld are we supposed to make Dragon riders out of-" she gestured up and down at imaginary figures before them "-these 'ladies in waiting' that have been delivered to us?!" Tyt'o laughed at his sister's vulgarity.

"We need to come up with a strategy, wren." He offered and his sister narrowed her eyes at him. More at the suggestion and less at his usage of his typical jibe. That was honestly the last thing on her mind at this moment. "If their training is mucked, and the chick isn't proper-bonded, either Imri or Goldoduur is going to tear through the lot of us. Right there in the nest, and mother and father won't be there to help." A serious look overcame him. "Father's sent for the tutors to come back, but the sands are slipping away….."

Hermione grimaced at that. He was not far off. When Dragons began their nesting and clutching, they digressed into their feral selves. Their tendencies to guard and hoard were legendary, and until their chicks had been hatched and had chosen their rider the Dragon sires were going to be wild and unpredictable. The last think they needed were two fully-grown adult Dragons exacting their wrath out on a handful of teenagers with mouths of teeth, and bellies full of rage when the two newcomers botched their bonding.

"So number one," she ticked a finger at him "make sure none of us get eaten." She ticked her second finger "Number two; it's all in or out. These courtesans we've been 'gifted' need to be warriors to be reckoned with by the time the wrymlings are ready." Tyt'o let go of a terse breath.

"Don't forget that we are still a few weeks away from our final tests." He reminded her, and she rolled her eyes and groaned.

" _Three,"_ she emphasized with her third finger "establish that you and I are irrefutably in top form." She stared at her brother, their matching eyes watching each other closely.

"No pressure." Tyt'o contributed sarcastically. Hermione dropped her hand at him and leaned against the stall behind her, and the soft snout of a horse nibbled into the soft curls of her hair. She snatched the strands out of hit's mouth. "Pig." She shot at it and it snuffed at her again and wiggled its lips at her.

"The master tutors are going to handle the spell casting and lessons, but since we've passed all these phases, we're going to have to see to their riding skills." Hermione nodded as she fingered through the horse spit in her hair, trying to wipe some of it off.

"And we're certain that we couldn't just give the two of them a map to the Upper Reaches and pray to the Gods that one of the Dragon sires doesn't smell them and sweep them up for supper?" She offered hopefully and her brother laughed at her. He opened his arms to her, and she fell into them, into the offer of comfort and solidarity that he showed.

"No, you dark sorceress," he accused of his sister lightly and she laughed a little, lessening the severity of the mood. "Setting them out as bait for the Dragons isn't an option. We can do this." Hermione looked up to her brother from their embrace into the eyes identical to her own.

"What if we can't, Tyt'o? What if we fail? We'll lose the clutch. Lose our _lives_?" She whispered, allowing her gaze into the distance somewhere over his shoulder as he released her. "This is the first clutch of Dragons in nearly a score." She felt a pit in her stomach begin to bottom out.

"We're Greshams, Hermione. Those soft ladies will become proper riders, and father will be back on his Goldoduur again." Tyt'o poured his platitudes out to his sister, hoping it would be enough.

"And to what end, Tyt'o?" Hermione broke the embrace. "What then, once they have the Dragons and are able to ride them? What comes after; they come to the Guild, or do they take them?" Her worries were painted in her brows as she sought her brothers' face for answers. Tyt'o picked up on Hermione's implication immediately.

"It feels a great treachery no matter what happens, doesn't it?"

"I wish we were part of fathers counsel," she complained. "Not knowing what end he has in mind, is maddening." His large hand came to her shoulder, their now-silence was permeated by the goings on of horses around them, snuffing through their feed, kicking hooves into the stall floors, and light nickers through stall-walls.

"Father's alternative to permitting this intrusion is giving you to House Malfoy," Tyt'o told her. "Have you knowledge of the wife of House Malfoy, sister?" she shook her head in the negative. Of course she didn't. The wife of the House had never stepped foot into Gresham lands, and the two of them had never done likewise to Malfoy lands themselves.

"Lady Malfoy was a Black before. A House disposed of poise, intelligence, cunning," Hermione toyed with the end of her hair still as she listened "Lord Malfoy gives a woman only her most 'Kingly' use…" Hermione's temporary naiveté was writ on her frown and Tyt'o sighed at being unable to avoid the vulgar definition. "-on her back, dear sister." Hermione's face crumpled up disgustedly at what she thought the image should look like in her mind, finding herself displeased at how a man would chiefly use his wife. _Father has never beset himself upon mother in such a –a vulgar way!_ She compared mentally. Her thoughts betrayed her and Tyt'o took his sisters palm in his to show gentleness at her unrest.

"Not every man of a House loves and honors his wife as father does, little sister," he explained, softly. "Men of the Houses are often disposed to taking their lady to bed as it fits only them; their wives are a vessel for children and," he hesitated "their own comforts. Not the comfort of their lady wife."

"Not like father at all, then." Hermione agreed as she quieted in her thoughts, trying to sort through this comparison between House and marital dynamic. "And you, brother, will you honor your lady wife as he does, or as our father?" She challenged back.

Tyt'o's face grew serious. "I have no wish for an empty woman," he countered. "What gratification could I glean for a woman with no thought of her own?" Hermione smiled at him, gladdened by his quick offence at her implication. It proved to her that this man, this father of the soft boy who had been sent to their house, was no true man at all. Raised by a man with no interest in a woman with mettle, with _fire._ She scoffed in her mind.

"So then," he turned and looked out into the rows of stalls down the corridor at the waiting mounts housed there in wait of proper use. "we start as soon as possible." He gestured out towards the horses and Hermione smiled.

She spoke only two words: "Rinnan and Gæst." Tyt'o's head whipped around to see a wicked smile painted on her face. The names of their stables two most notoriously high-spirited horses having left her mouth, and he could not help but belt out a fully-belly laugh at her audacity.

"We can't kill them the first day of riding!" He managed to get out as he leaned over and slapped his thighs.

"True. But we haven't time to let them have pony rides like bearns." She admonished him. He conceded with a nod of his head, and wiped at the moisture in his eyes.

"Come," he motioned to her as he opened the doors to the outside again. "Let us take supper and bens our father's ears of your schemes." His sister exited the stable door first, and Tyt'o gave her a playful little push as she moved. "My fiery sister and her barbarous schemes." His words carried the levity they needed at that moment, and the infectiousness of it made Hermione laughed with him as they walked back up to the Keep.

… **..**

 **A/N:** The names of the two horses are translated from Old English. Rinnan is "run or runner" and "Gæst" is "Demon".

Bearns = children


	6. Chapter 6

***I just wanted to apologize for the long time between updates. I have excuses, but that is not very satisfying. I also re-wrote this chapter in its entirety after finishing it, and not liking it. That was fairly sucky. But anyway, enjoy!**

 **Chapter 6**

Birds were chirping. What in the fiery pits of Hades did the birds think they were doing? Draco thought to himself groggily as he cracked open an eye to be met with blurry light. He wondered if he could summon his magic with alacrity and send a spell to turn them inside out. Surely he could manage that without having to actually open his eyes? He waved his hand around, searching for the familiarity of his bed-side table, and found, well, _nothing._ Draco rolled his face back into the softness of his bed covers, noting in his mind that they were nowhere near as luxurious as his own were. The revelation hit him like a punch. _His own?_ His head came flying up, not truly registering where he lay, and took stock of his surroundings.

 _Ah, yes,_ he reminded himself with an exhausted scowl. _The Gresham hovel._ Draco plopped his head unceremoniously back into his pillow following his revelation (decidedly not as soft as his own). Too hard, too unlike what _he_ preferred, and he growled. "You'd think a House could afford simple luxuries to their own guest rooms." He muttered and shut his eyes against the rising light through the curtains in his windows. The noises of those gods-bedamned birds that _would not stop chirping._

Draco roared his frustration and threw his hands to the covers at the continued disturbance with clenched fists. This damnable room awful with its tall well-lit windows and its disgustingly rustic adornments, _and those fucking birds._ He seethed, vowing at once that he would send a hex out that window as soon as he sat vertical that would light them all on fire.

Tearing himself out of the bedclothes, which were uncharacteristically warped and twisted all over the large bed (the bed was quite smaller than his own, he concluded mentally) and stalked to the curtain covering the outside light. Despite his sleepy-state, he had worked himself into quite the irate state at this nuisance with the flying rats, but had not taken any stock of his person. Specifically that his bed sheets were wrapped around his ankles, and entwined quite unexpectedly in the large bed as well. The result was quite sudden and Draco Malfoy found himself hurtled to the floor without any ceremony or warning, face first.

"Sarding shite!" His outburst was lost in the stones of the floor as they met with his chest, and nearly his nose. He rolled onto his back, kicking his legs this way and that, like a petulant toddler child being chastised for pilfering too many sweets. He didn't care. He'd slept terribly in the bed that wasn't his, on sheets that felt rough like unrefined wool against his skin, and awoken to the harping of those shitty, spiteful demon-rats flying around outside his window. Draco Malfoy wished for nothing more than a fire to rain down from the skies to burn everything into ash at that moment, as he lay on the floor tangled in bedcovers and clothes askance in directions that rolled themselves into the bends of his knees and the apex of his thighs.

Draco huffed and threw his legs out of the mess, and abandoned it all behind him. He jerked the long cloth of the curtain to the side to face the delightful chirping he'd been roused with just moments ago with a simmering rage bubbling to the surface. Though, the moment the curtain was clear and the light pink and oranges painted in swaths across the light blue background of sky was in view, the noises simply stopped. He stood still, looking for his miniscule serenading tormentors, and saw absolutely nothing but sky and jagged mountains around the valley in which the House of Gresham was nestled.

There were no trees as his window, no movement in the embrasures that gave any hint to signs of life. Simply put; _there were no birds._ Draco hesitated and plastered himself to the panes of the windows searching for sign of their little bodies swooping though the air as he was met with continued silence once again.

There was absolutely nothing in the sky, though the colors painted by the rising sun and the vaguest whispers of morning clouds in the sky. It was early morning and the light was growing in warmth and potency. Draco would have normally taken the opportunity to rise himself from his chambers at what he considered a much more decent hour, but he was up now, and he found himself lightly disturbed at this mystification.

He considered momentarily heaving the curtain shut and returning to bed until he reminded himself that not only were the sheets repulsively scratchy, but the bed covers were strewn across the floor in a flood of twisted cloth trailing all the way from the bed to the window. In order to achieve any semblance of comfort beneath them he was going to have to sort out their tangles and turn down his own bed. The notion of any drudgery offended his very senses. _Elf work, that was_ , he affirmed stubbornly. Though, he could just use magic to straighten everything out and return to the warmth of the morning, and perchance find a few extra stolen moments of peace and rest…

He dismissed the possibility of reducing himself to simple servitude, even for the sake of his own comfort with an audible "Pah" as though someone was there for him to display his deeply ingrained entitlement to luxury.

Draco's irritation remained a constant through that morning; when he called for an elf to fetch warmed water, none came. When he went to pull garments from his the wardrobe, nothing he had arranged was in the same order he had left it in. Couple these little peeves in with a night of poor sleep upon a baseless peasant mattress with cats-tongue sheets, and a morning of demon-sparrows calling to the underbellies of Hades at the earliest hour of the morning, and suffice to say Draco was feeling positively barbarous when he finally emerged through the thick wooden door to walk himself down to breakfast in the Great Hall.

Theodore was waiting for him in a chair just outside his chamber, and examined his foul expression with curiosity, his dark hair and simple robes arranged properly. Draco's black look deepened. "A good morning, then?" Theodore inquired semi-lightly and Draco whipped his head back to retort.

"As good as a Griffon's hind end," he snarled at Theodore who raised his hands immediately as Draco had all but rounded on him, his expression slightly apologetic.

"Take a deep breath now, Draco, no need to be so excitable at this hour." He teased, the two already making their way down the hall and to the stairs. They were the only ones about and presumed to join the Gresham's in the hall for a morning meal. Tyt'o, however, stood stalwart and calm at the bottom of the stairs, watching the pair as they made their descent.

Draco and Theodore's exchange was dampened and the pair automatically put of their emotional and physical calm to express their detachment at the sight of him. It didn't go unnoticed and the pair realized a moment too late that they had been sloppy. Tyt'o did not smile, or give them any overtures of friendly morning ascent, he simply observed as the guests of his father's house descended to the ground floor.

"Lady Gresham," Tyt'o corrected "-Mother, wishes me to see you to the Great Hall for morning meal." Tyt'o gestured along the long corridor to both Draco and Theodore and he began down the hall without offering much more. Draco rolled his eyes at Theodore at their young hosts lackluster offering in conversation, as though to emphasize their superiority. In an old House, such as Malfoy or Nott, it was customary for the Lord to provide house staff to accompany a guest in the home, such as a butler. The son of the lord would remain with the family in the formal dining hall.

Theodore caught Draco's meaning and simply followed the two trailing up the last position in the line. Draco had purposefully positioned himself first behind the Lords son, and his proclamation of importance was not lost on Theodore. He simply didn't care; let Malfoy strut and claim all he wanted, it didn't really matter.

Down the hall and toward the passage was the entrance to the hall of House Gresham when Tyt'o took an unexpected turn and passed along a separate hallway down the side to a more obscure doorway. Entering into it, Draco and Theodore were caught quite off guard when they presented with a simply, but long and sturdy table with the three remaining Gresham's standing in wait of their guests. Loren, the lord, raised his hand in acknowledgement to their guests. "It seems I owe my radiant wife her wish as it was I who assumed you lost in our home, wandering aimlessly without knowledge of where to go." Ursa smiled at the pair, giving none of her thoughts away, and Loren pulled a chair away from the table for her, allowing her to seat herself gently before pushing it in. He stepped beside his wife and performed the same duty for his daughter, Hermione, who had her glowing eyes trained effectively on the pair of them.

"Lord Gresham was certain you had found yourselves adrift in our vast halls, and sent dear Tyt'o to ensure you made it safely." She commented sincerely.

Was she joking? The pair could not tell and stole a very brief glance at each other to see if they were thinking the same thing. The House, Gresham House, was or a reasonable scale to be certain, but was she aware that in any comparison, the House of Malfoy and the Houses of Nott to name just two, were on a scale of double size, if not greater? As uncomfortable as they were, standing here as plainly as two stumps protruding from the ground, and staring into the faces of members of a House so diametrically opposed in political and social belief to their own, they elected independently to keep their mouths shut, and simply play along. Theodore spoke for the duo, and quite warmly.

"Your ladyship is too kind to send your own son to squire us." And she smiled sincerely in return at his appreciation, despite that it was truly only a social gesture and nothing deeper.

"What excellent manners you have, young Nott." She complimented, and he provided her a little smile.

"If it pleases my lady, she would but call me by my name." He entreated, not entirely certain why he'd felt the need to offer such a request in that very moment though it had felt right, and Ursa turned her beautiful chin just slightly in consideration of his offering. Polite, to be certain. Even familiar, if one were to consider it further. The offering of familiarity was not lost on her husband, who scrutinized that overture very specifically. Next to him, Draco, was concealing his expression of distain at the sudden coziness his companion was discovering with the Lady of the House.

The remaining Greshams and the two young men all found their seats, in relative proximity to the other along this seemingly too-modest table they found themselves coming to. Adorned across the table was a variety of offerings; fruit, and pitchers of drink, and several bowls of something neither newcomer was familiar with. Though undeniably the aromas that wafted to them caused them both to feel an involuntary watering within the caverns of their mouths. Draco was revolted when a compulsory and audible grumble escaped his body, betraying its yearning for the sustenance spread out before them. Ursa smiled her approval. "Excellent. This speaks well for your day ahead young Malfoy." She handed a bowl to him casually and he looked at her with her arm extended with her offering, struck quite dumb it seemed. She nodded at the bowl and back to him encouraging him to take it from her.

Draco was mortified and fought desperately to contain his face in a blank and impassive mask. He had literally no notion on how to reach to _the Lady of the House serving him at a meal._ It was as if he were frozen in time. Theodore poked at Draco's foot with his own under the table, and Draco felt himself –quite improperly- reaching over to take it from her, glancing uninhibited around the table silently questioning where the house staff was.

Ursa answered his questioning looks immediately. "You won't see them here in the mornings, young Malfoy."

"Whom, my Lady?" he asked as she poured a little white cream into her own bowl, and placed the tiny pitcher back into the middle of the table, and picked up a bowl filled with ripe berries to dash upon the top of her own meal.

"Why the house staff, of course." She explained and looked at both young men in turn, as the young Gresham heirs both silently prepared their own bowls by adding cream, sugar, various dashes of spices or berries while Theodore and Draco simply looked on in complete shock. "It's a practice here in House Gresham that we spend one meal in the day together, only as a family, and without any aid." She gestured to the table. "This is the families private meal chamber, used only for this purpose." Ursa then gestured kindly to the various pitchers and bowls that the other members have availed their own portions out of to both Theodore and Draco.

"What is this, exactly?" Draco speculated at his bowl, still warm and steaming its contents upward towards him, tempting his senses with its aroma. His in trepidation was writ all across his face, and Ursa gave a little trill of a chuckle.

"It's a simple porridge, young Malfoy," she explained. "Wheats cooked with milk and spices as a base." She motioned to the various offerings across the table again "add whatever you like into it to make it as you would enjoy: berries, nuts, cream, sugar" she paused for an adoring look to her husband "I confess that my Lord prefers his quite sweet," she teased Loren, and his dark brown eyes twinkled at her affectionately. "While my dear Hermione prefers hers with quite the addition of berries and nuts."

The two young men held their bowls like pauper orphans begging in the streets as they glanced around the table at the variables they could add to their edible fare. Theodore carefully added cream and the same assortment of nuts that Hermione had chosen, while Draco pondered the cream and sugar option. Neither of them noted how the Greshams examined their choices, or their apparent fear at handling anything directly. Specifically how Draco gingerly attended to his own food, as though he had never lifted a hand in his lift to do anything for himself. Their actions spoke in volumes to Loren Greshams family.

The two guests found that once they had selected something to pair their meals with, the tastes they had created were thoroughly enjoyable. Hearty, certainly, but sweet, spiced, and utterly filling. It was a wholly new experience for the two to be in such an intimate setting with a family wholly unfamiliar to either of them.

The bulk of the short meal was companionable. Ursa and Loren spoke among themselves while Tyt'o and Hermione contributed commentary at intervals. It was when the final bite was chewed, swallowed, and utensil settled back to the tabletop that Loren directed himself to his two young guests.

"Your training will begin today," he informed them. "Masters and tutors have been recalled as Tyt'o and Hermione have already proceeded past their required lessons and they were released. Until they arrive in a few days the two of them will work with you on mastering your ride." Draco and Theodore were not completely sure they understood what Lord Gresham meant by that, sufficed to say that they brokered no arguments and nodded diligently, their bellies full and their appetites sated. Loren addressed his son and daughter together as well. "I have full faith you and your sister will begin efficiently and effectively in your introductions?" Tyt'o agreed enthusiastically, whereas Hermione remained stoic and observant of the group.

Undetected from below the table next to her, Ursa placed her hand on top of Hermione's while her son assured his father that he and his sister would be capable instructors. Hermione looked to her mother and found a warm, slight smile for her. Ursa knew beneath the surface her daughter felt explosively upset at the very presence of their two guests, especially with the possibility that one of them stood a marginal contingent at ending up as her betrothed. To a mother who knew her child, it was obvious that her daughter viewed the young Malfoy in utter contempt. She had not spoken a single word to the youth, nor done anything further than to bear witness to his uncertainty when performing a basic, and rudimentary task such as pouring cream into a bowl. Hermione was not only unimpressed with the specimens of the opposite gender before her, she found them to be in absolute contrary to everything House Gresham stood for.

The youths had been at her family table less than an hour, and Hermione had already dissected them in her mind as to what their principle uses could have been. This was, to say, very little.

The silent contemplations between mother and daughter were not shared in front of the males surrounding them. Such impressions would be discussed at-length in later times, and once her daughter had more opportunity to see what difficulty the family was going to have overcome to make these two would-be-wizards into specimens worthy to bear the trial of the final pilgrimage to the Upper Reaches once the clutch was ready to hatch.

Ursa squeezed Hermione's hand once more and released her, and she stood. As was custom, the youths and her husband arose in respect of the Lady of the House, her husband Loren offered her his hand and Ursa accepted and faced Draco and Theodore. "The children will take you presently to train, and shall be responsible for you in any times when you are not with a Master or tutor." They nodded and bowed to her as they would in their own House, their manners certainly not being questioned as lacking.

Once Loren and Ursa had availed together, Tyt'o and Hermione turned together to leave with Hermione leading and Tyt'o behind her. As they exited the doorway to the cozy hall, he turned to his family's guests and motioned at the door, "Let's get started then." Draco and Theodore followed dutifully through the door, and followed them through the same hall and out to the front entrance to the keep.

Once outside the morning sun had already warmed the very light chill from the shadows and was making its ascent over the entrance to the valley by way of the traveling road. The bustle of house staff was present in the bailey as the leading pair exchanged pleasantries with people as they passed. It was a simple as the occasional 'good morning' to one, or a 'happy riding, sirs!' from another. The friendly exchanges occurring before Theodore and Draco were putting them both on a sort of edge. Not a one of them was directed to them; but more than that, there were no members of their staff at their own houses who were permitted to greet them in such a casual tone, let alone dare to assume they could exchange pleasantries with them.

House staff were little more than indentured servants, as far as the Houses of Nott, or Malfoy were concerned. They bore almost as little importance as that of the House elves that were bound to the family, and the House. Though, likely possessing of their own magicks, and presumed to be that of common magic. Not refined magic such as that which the two youthful scions wielded, with their extensive tutelage and impeccable pedigrees. The common folk were barely fit to clean the mud from the boots of a nobleman, let alone carry on a conversation at-length, and in passing. It bore the overwhelming miasma of _familiarity._

 _The whole family must consort with these muddied croppers._ Draco presumed, finding himself shy away from the presence of anyone who walked too near him. Theodore found himself with the same thoughts as his companion, though comporting himself with much a little more false harmony. In truth, not a single one of the various people they passed as they followed the two Gresham heirs through the castle once laid a single finger upon them, or brushed up against them, or even made eye contact with them. Every exchange was specific to one, or both, of the two Greshams walking in front of them.

Hermione and Tyt'o escorted their guests to the large stables, where Tyt'o secured various stable liveries with which to bridle their individual horses. Hermione broke off from the group to seek the stable master and head stable boy while the two extraneous males in their company milled around a little in uncertainty. Adept deceivers already, the two were assuredly becoming. But in the face of so much divergent behaviors and scenarios they had been thrust into, the two found themselves more partial to sticking close to the other, somewhat out of a sense that this would provide them some safety.

Tyt'o returned first with several bridles, and thrust one at each of his fellow adolescent. They scrutinized it without understanding its implication in the foggiest. It was when Hermione returned with an arm brimming with leather saddle, which she promptly thrust upon Theodore –not taking into consideration that he had no inkling as to why, or what purpose it served, and he proceeded to nearly drop it to the floor. She wasted no time with apologies or explanations, and as Draco's slender and tall compatriot struggled to right his armload, he found a similar bundle being foisted upon his own person as well.

Draco backed up immediately and shot Hermione a look of pure incredulity. "Now see here, girl, I won't be bearing any burdens for you. Fetch your stable boy!" he waved imperiously at her. She didn't even flinch.

"No stable boys today, gnashlab," she shot at him, and Draco flinched at the insult. "You'll carry your wears the same as anybody." She thrust it into him again, and Draco _again_ took a step back, causing her to have to advance by a step to keep herself from stumbling.

"I shall have use of a stable boy, wench, and I shall not serve as any common carrier for your burdens." He commanded again, feeling as though this would somehow imprint his point upon her more effectively. He was dead wrong.

Still holding the leather saddle she had attempted to foist on him, she closed in on Draco with sure steps, which he mirrored in reverse as he stepped away from her. Her face was hard upon him, and her eyes were narrowed, but blazing. "Oh you will be carrying this saddle, little prince" Tyt'o chuckled at the exchange. Draco was going to learn more than a few new lessons this day, one way or another. "If I have to tie it around your neck and walk you like a hound out the bailey and into the mountains!" Draco discovered as she ramped up her little tirade that he'd come to the wall behind him. With nowhere else to move, she shoved the saddle into his chest. Hard.

Draco found himself unexpectedly wishing he could strike this little savage in front of him. Their glares were quite well matched at each other, though the only reason she broke hers was to retrieve more riding gear from the tack rooms. Tyt'o smiled broadly at Draco and gave him a laugh. "Take heart," and Draco turned his scowl towards the young lord "after today's lesson, she'll be the least of your ails." Hermione handed her brother a saddle, which he accepted in thanks to her, picked up a bucket with grain, a bridle for himself, and left the two without instruction.

Draco still felt the fires of indignation of having been assaulted with a piece of riding gear, and spoken to in raised tones by the mere nothingness of the insignificant Gresham lass. Theodore had felt himself amused at Draco having bounced between petulance and then fear of that fiery young lady that had forced his companion to bear his own burden. He didn't mind feeling amusement at her just then, as it had frequently grated on Theodore's very nerves at the sheer amount of entitlement Draco displayed when it came to what he called 'common work'. The mere act of lifting a single finger to do so much as carry an object apparently carried enough weight to create him a mortal wound.

Theodore did not have any similar misgiving about working. Similarly, to the House of Malfoy, the Notts were afforded every luxury imaginable, and a few that were quite frivolous still. But this didn't mean that Theodore was a stranger to any form of industriousness. Thoros Nott was a self-created mage amassed of a great deal of power, and he had worked very hard for it. His own power was the proof of such labors; long years of dedicated study, and self-chosen strict discipline in form and practice. While his son felt very little warmth for his sire, he did recognize and admire the man's accomplishments. They imbued Theodore with an understanding that hard work wrought higher degree of exploit. He suspected that in terms of magical skill and accomplishment, that Draco Malfoy could very well yet prove himself quite less talented than Theodore was.

The grooms had brought out four horses for the quaternary and roped them up outside the stable. Tyt'o and Hermione were comfortable and well-acquainted with horses and had requested their groomsmen pick out a pair from among the small group that they usually preferred. They were all strong and sleek specimens; well groomed and good-tempered overall. Their heads bobbed up and down occasionally, and the gelding Tyt'o approached turned to him and wiggled his lips to Tyt'os shoulder with a little show of affection. Tyt'o handled the horse's velvety snout with a few low, friendly words in greeting and the animal pricked its ears forward and sniffed around his rider for any hidden morsels he might have to offer. Hermione swept past the pair and settled her own saddle atop the mount she'd be taking for their ride.

The young rider went straight to work situating her saddle over the blanket, buckling it down, and tightening it. She was all business and skill, checking for lose straps and hanging her bridle over the seat before she gave the horse a friendly patting at the shoulder and looked back to Theodore and gave her head a jerk. "Come meet your horse, Nott." He obliged diligently and Tyt'o emulated with Draco.

Hermione smoothed her hand over the back of the horse next to hers as she walked behind him. "Have you ever handled a horse?" she inquired.

"Never." He admitted and she nodded to herself.

She had expected as much, and began in on a series of explanations on how to properly tack and care for the animal, reviewing each step in detail and providing proper context on every aspect. From everything to easing the bid into the mouth, to proper position of the pad beneath the saddle, and how to tighten buckles without cinching an animal too quickly.

As the guided Theodore through each step, he noted carefully that much of her word choice when referring to his horse was actually a fair bit more ambiguous. She would use the words "beast" or "mount" quite often, and it occurred to Theodore at that point that she was encompassing a wider definition on purpose.

It was at some point between when Hermione had shown him how to command his horse to turn using the reigns, and detailing to him what a 'frog' was on the horse, and why such a thing mattered, that he began observing _her._ He noted at some point how her hands moved across his animal; so very confident, but kind with every touch. Her hands were smooth, but had seen many days of sun and where he expected dainty and well-groomed nails he found them clipped short like a man's instead. It was curious, still, that he noted she wore breeches as a man did as well, despite that her hawk-eyed mother was much more disposed to proper ladies finery. Though it didn't seem to be any issue that Hermione was not.

The two of them mounted to their horses together and she called over to Tyt'o to report her destination to her brother. Something about reaches, or the rivers. Theodore wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the horse underneath him _unnerved_ him. He was no stranger to flight; wizards could travel by enchanted broom, carpets, or in a more advanced and powerful mage they could have achieved flights simply by themselves. Travel or trek by horse was typical of the lower classes, or those wizards or witches _too impoverished_ to afford the luxuries of magical travel accommodation.

It was first in how gentle she was with the animal, as he himself had no need to ride any animals, he didn't have any appreciation for caring for any living thing himself. What emanated from her was an adoration that was subtle, but valiant. The young lady of the House took care to focus her direct attention on his horse more than she did at him, which he postulated was because she either didn't care for him, or she cared more for the animal. He could not be certain which it was.

Tyt'o and Hermione escorted their protégés on horseback through the castles outer walls and builds, and down the long road through the valley and into the foothills. The brother and sister kept themselves quiet, and aware through the travel. Draco and Theodore mimicked their tutors in shuttering themselves away any outward curiosity in the opposite pair, or their surroundings. Though, as Theodore noticed, Draco observed them as much as he did their surroundings.

The riders diverted from the main thoroughfare to what looked like a little foot path into the lower mountains. The horses knew this path well and started picking up their hooves more excitedly as they headed further to their destination. Draco's horse in particular had begun stepping much more quickly in anticipation as the single-file line of riders approached a forest path that was crowded in with brush and overgrowth.

Despite their original intent to pull a little prank on their father's new students by outfitting them with a pair of the stables least-broken and most spirited horses, Tyt'o and Hermione abandoned their sly plot when they agreed even though it would be greatly humorous to watch the two struggle to keep their mounts contained, that the luxury of time was not something they were in possession of. Simply put, antics would have to wait.

Tree branches and winding vines were sprung in all directions through the initial entry into the wooded area, having never been contained along this path, as it was far off any main route. Only the two Gresham children had made regular use of it. The two of them deftly leaned toward their horses necks to avoid foliage being slapped in their faces as they led the team through the pathway.

Exiting the wooded area they had used to reach their destination, Draco and Theodore found themselves in a wide open area surrounded by trees and cloistered by the mountains. The distance traveled some ways, and there were several additional paths that could be seen diverting from the arena they had entered. "First one to make 5 laps wins," he called, and kicked his horse into step right behind Draco's as he reeled back an open palm and hit the back end of the animal. The animal _surged_ forward at the surprise and took off fast, causing Draco to yelp.

Theodore glared at Hermione and she gave him a smirk. "Time to start riding, _princeling."_ Hermione's brown horse wheeled at her sturdy command and bolted to follow her brother and Draco. Realizing he'd started last, Theodore nudged his horse onward to follow the trio ahead of him.

The two newcomers were inexperienced to say the very least when it came to horseback, and it shortly became evident as the two fell far behind Tyt'o and Hermione that the siblings were accustomed to racing each other as they led the little group of riders by several horse-lengths in the lead, shooting barbs and jabs at each other playfully, out of habit.

"That all you got?!" Hermione shouted through her laughter.

"The wren can sing, but can she fly?!" her brother shot back, and Hermione cried out in amused indignance as Tyt'o, _unbelievably,_ urged his mount ahead of hers. Dust and dirt clods flew from the hooves of their horses as the two goaded their horses faster, their companions falling farther behind, trying to cover their faces from the foray being kicked at them.

The 5 laps Tyt'o had challenged were over quickly enough, with Hermione _close_ on his heels, laughing as she pulled her horse up short. Theodore and Draco reigned their two horses behind, coughing and glaring at the Gresham children unfavorably.

"What, exactly," Draco sputtered out between attempts to clear his throat "are we doing out here?" he demanded, alternately brushing dust from the sleeves of his jerkin and shirt. The dust covering his face, and darkening his eyebrows understated the glare out of his lightly colored eyes. Tyt'o laughed a little, and Hermione joined him through her delighted gasps after their exhilarating little race.

"Learning to ride, little prince!" Tyt'o exclaimed.

Hermione and Tyt'o spent that day with Draco and Theodore with them astride their horses going over various moves while seated, and over again once more to ensure the pair were beginning to pick up on the rhythm. Sometimes the siblings would dismount to point out points of weakness in their fellow students in how they held their reigns, or how to find a more harmonious pace while at a canter.

It had grown hot out as the sun overhead cast summer shine onto all of them. The three young men had all removed their doublets and hiked their sleeves over their forearms. Sweat had run rivulets down their brows and through the dust that had smattered their faces through their repeated riding through their runs. Even Hermione had pulled her braid to the back of her head, and with a few smoothed twigs she'd pulled from trees (and a little help with a small knife), she had poked them through her hair to keep it from contact to her neck.

The hours riding the steps repeatedly had tired their newest pupils to their utmost limit. While they had been able to stop for a few morsels during the midday, the tidbits were nothing like the hearty meal the pair silently imagined in their minds waiting for them at the end of a day. While Tyt'o and Hermione had exchanged laughter and quips throughout the day in jest and freely showing their elation in this was rather annoying to Draco, in particular. In truth; neither of them had expended any thought on the idea that an animal was not only ridable, but served any function of use, truly. Exhausted and still utterly uncertain why this had any necessity to why they were there, Draco grew impatient.

"I can see how you two would find this kind of ceaseless, dirty moil to be amusing," he finally shot out, causing the two Gresham progeny to stop their brief exchange over an inane and playful disagreement. "But I fail to see how this waste of a day has had any use to the either of us!" He wiped his brow in the crease of his elbow, trying to rid himself of the disgusting grime he was covered with. Hermione's mouth bend down in a little frown at him.

"How can you possibly learn to control a living, _breathing_ Dragon, if you cannot even keep a horse under control?!" Draco balked a little at her question. Not only had the correlation not struck him, but Hermione herself had not uttered more than a few short, very terse words at him through the entire day. Now, to be at the opposite end of her ire, he found himself feeling foolishness creep up behind the mask of irritation he had put upon his face.

"Then why not teach us on a real Dragon?" he spat, "all this about how mighty they are and how serious this all is, and where are they?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline, but Draco kept on. "Riding a horse isn't anything like riding a Dragon!" At that last statement, she pitched her head back in a laugh, revealing straight and aristocratically cared for teeth. Her laughter was quite musical and carefree, unmetered with malic or anger. It was genuine mirth.

"You've got much to learn about Dragons yet, young Malfoy." Tyt'o added for her, and she nodded, moving her horse closer to Draco's to look him in the face as she spoke to him. Her eyes were absolutely burning into his, and he felt his gaze heat up with something he couldn't really identify.

"You see, little prince," she shot at him, her fierce copper eyes locked onto him. "Our Dragons are brooding, waiting for their young to hatch." She began to walk her horse around his as she spoke, never wavering in her scrutiny. "A Dragon loses a little bit of his higher self when the female lays her eggs, and they become all but wild by the time the chicks are ready to break their eggs. Dragons are mighty parents," she chuckled, as though it was a perfectly clear fact, and he was just too stupid to know any better. "Those parents will boil you- and everyone else in their nest, down to ash and bone if they think you're not befitting as a rider." Hermione stopped her horse parallel to her own, facing him closely, and she leaned out of her saddle at him with her eyes narrowing with distain. "I don't fancy being roast on a spit when it comes time to bond, you bemoaning quim, so my brother and I design to secure you two as properly fitted riders when it comes time to make the pilgrimage."

Tyt'o's snicker at Hermione's vulgarity towards Draco ignited one in Theodore as well, and he covered his mouth with his hand to keep some semblance of solidarity with Draco in light of her insult. Draco wore his mortification without reserve. _He'd never been spoken to like that before._ Being a Malfoy afforded him a certain esteem, and with it the expectation of his couth under pressure. He felt himself utterly unsure as to what to do in the face of her aggression, and her relentless dislike for him.

Outside of his mother, who doted on him consummately in their private chambers away from the austere view of his father, he had never really interacted with many females. Perhaps the occasional Lady from another House, but almost none near _his own_ age. Even lacking that experience, he could see from the way she twisted her mouth that the very act of _speaking_ to him she found embittering.

"You seem to think _I_ want this, Lady Gresham," he ground out at her. "But I couldn't care one whit about your stupid blasted Dragons. Let them burn the lot of you to dust, for all I have care," he noted that her eyes narrowed further, but that she leaned away again and the twist upon her shapely mouth fell away as he continued. "Dragons are nothing but mindless beast with no purpose but to bleed." He enunciated the last vowel largely to make his point, but noted firmly that _both_ the Gresham's straightened themselves as his implication sunk in.

Dragon's blood. It was worth fortunes to rival Solomon if you could get your hands on any of it. The problem there was _finding_ a Dragon, and then having someone with a death wish to shake the beast loose its living coil.

Hermione and Tyt'o knew too well how much Dragon blood would fetch, and the prices on the heads of any Dragon they would ever mount into the sky would blacken their minds in fear. From the time they were little children sneaking into their parents' bed chambers when the light of dawn painted the sky, Tyt'o and Hermione had _dreamed_ of riding Dragons. Every lesson in magick they were ever taught brought them back to how they would use it astride their Dragon. Every exercise in hand-to-hand fighting was correlated to how it was to be done as a Dragon rider. Any tutelage they received on caring for a magical creature was looped around to how it pertained to the care of a Dragon. Their breath, their lives, their dreams, they were **all** about Dragons. Draco's insinuated debasement of their livelihood felt like a knife across their flesh.

Tyt'o felt a burn behind his eyes and cheekbone, but for the fury he felt boiling beneath the surface of himself, he knew that the inferno raging in his sister would be so much worse. With only a light urging, and a few short steps of his horse, he had his hand on her forearm and his own matching copper eyes sought her face to ring her attentions back to him. She was vibrating with rage beneath his palm. Her reigns were fisted so hard that the leather in her hands groaned and crinkled loudly. Tyt'o diverted her by further inserting his horse between her and the young Malfoy to break her wordless, venomous gaze. But Tyt'o saw how Draco's face was placed in a smug, and pompously triumphant expression. He'd gotten a gouge at her, and now he knew how he could wedge the knife again, and again. A weakness he could exploit.

"Only a fool who knows no better than a child would price a Dragon at its most base worth," Tyt'o commented, trying to break the sudden deathly silence between his sister and her adversary. Hermione reluctantly un-fixed her gaze from Draco as Tyt'o's horse had forced her own to step away. Burying her volcanic enmity for this pompous and loathsome imbecile, she wheeled her horse around the small group and gave instruction once more, shaking her head lightly as though to clear it of the burden of her overwhelming anger.

"Again, then, you two," she motioned to the track they'd been riding, "half a score and two, and the one to lose has to comb down _all_ four horses without magic."

Theodore and Draco balked at her a moment with their dirty and sweaty faces, and she smirked specifically at Draco, just as he had at her. "No time to waste, _dear maidens,"_ she added very specifically. Theodore wasted no time in setting a firm jab into his horse and wheeling it around. Draco, however, was caught more off-guard than his counterpart and ended up a mere second behind him.

"Seems a little light on the retribution," her brother mentioned to her as he made to stand his horse next to hers. "Not the kind of reaction I thought you'd have had." Hermione watched the two urge their horses faster through the track they had been running already; they were approaching the first lap already. Theodore was still leading.

"I'd have knocked him off his horse if you hadn't been here brother." Tyt'o knew that to be a truth, she hadn't even needed to speak it. He looked at her, and placed a gentle hand upon hers to entreat her with gentility.

"He'll never be able to hurt them, Hermione," Tyt'o's began, sincerely. "Goldoduur and Imri would never allow it-" her hand tightened over her saddle horn beneath his own, the idea of harm being perpetrated on any one of their families Dragons, _on the Dragons that might be their own…._. It filled her with a dread she refused to show. The racing pair before them completed the second lap, dust and clods of dirt flying up around the Gresham siblings. The noises of hoofs quieted as they rounded again around another loop, Tyt'o lowered his voice to Hermione and leaned to her. "We will speak with father," he promised. "We will warn him for when the masters come, the treachery the Malfoy speaks of. He will see to it the masters know their intention."

Hermione nodded to her brother, endlessly thankful of his wise words. Tyt'o was much like their own mother in this regard; careful to consider, wise in choices. Hermione, much to her occasional chagrin, was quick to act and even quicker to act when angered. In that way, she was quite more like their father, and a diametric opposite to her brother. She knew her brother to speak wisely, and though only a few handfuls of months older than she, it seemed he continued to prove the more sensible of the two of them.

"Have words with father, then, brother." Hermione said, as evenly as she could, her attention locked on to the pair of riders, of which Theodore was still in the lead. She felt a light tingling of pride knowing that Nott lead the race. Perchance this would bring the young Malfoy down a notch or so to be bested before a group. From their very brief experiences together, she had already decided he was a braggart and a bastard, to boot. Though while more quiet, and more inquisitive, she did not have any inkling to trust the young Theodored any more than she would Malfoy. He was simply more congenial.

Still, though, she shouldn't be too surprised at how contentiously he had behaved towards her. After all, he had not slept very finely last night. A little smile played on her face. The Gresham siblings had clandestinely seen to it that their guests had, well, _less than comfortable accommodations._ The false morning birds were a particularly devious touch that Hermione had added in at the agreement of her brother. A little pranking never harmed anyone, did it? Moreover, the two Gresham children had never truly had anyone beside the other to experiment their little larks on. It certainly told them which of the pair was more susceptible to cantankerousness once worn down, just a tad.

"The Dragons will be safe, little wren." Tyt'o assured her again. "Neither of these two could bring them any harm, once they've bonded." Hermione was comforted with this reminder, knowing it to be true from the stories told to them by their teachers, and parents both. Once a rider was bonded to his Dragon, no force on the plains of mortals nor gods could cause a man to raise a hand in anger to his Dragon. It would be the same as striking a wound upon your own soul to do such a thing.

Hermione knew he words were true, she grasp his words right down through the core of her own magic deep within her body. Nevertheless, as she watched this pair of newcomers into their lands, nay- into their lives. Riding hard upon their horses, upon _their_ lands, she grappled internally with dread for the months to come before them.

The pair she watched completing their sixth lap were already trailing years behind on the same instructions that Hermione and Tyt'o had been educated with since they were young. The hatching of their new generation of their families Dragons was going to be upon them much sooner than they would be ready. The consequences of bringing a duo of under-taught and inadequate nominees into a nest of great Golden Dragons caused Hermione to feel a wave of panic overtake her, and her heart to race wildly. Goldoduur and Imri would burn them all alive for their insolence, and likely never cast them a second thought for the remainder of their long-lived existences. Such peril were one of the pitfalls of courting a Dragon to bond as a rider.

It would be all, or nothing, it seemed. Her panic at the scene in her mind where the face of her father's bound-Dragon decided the fate of their band of merry misfits subsided as she gulped breaths as quietly as she could, trying to press the terror from her mind. She and Tyt'o had never imagined that such a thing would be possible before this point, but the reality had finally sunk in for her. Her mother's earlier insistence at the importance of their training sunk in for her.

She and Tyt'o would stop at nothing in their endeavor to see these two soft, genteel boys be shaped into fierce, hardened and capable riders. Their taunting of the Gresham family be-damned, their hesitations at what they were learning be-damned, and their resistance to any of it, be-damned.

…..

 **Notes on some of the terms used:**

"Sarding" is the equivalent of saying Fuck, or fucking. Ah, Draco and his secret penchant for swearing. Hermione has one as well!

"Gnashlab" – a person who is always complaining.

one half score = 10 (remember one score = 20)

So; the exchange between Ursa and Theo at breakfast…. Ursa is _well_ aware of how the fellow Houses are set up. That's the point. The boys have no idea what kind of social and political acumen Ursa is capable of, except for Theo, which is a direct result of his father telling him to watch her.

I won't give anything else away, I just want to point out that Ursa is not empty-headed.

More terms: A bailey is like a courtyard outside a castle keep.

A keep is a main area within a castle, though the definition has varies throughout the ages. Castles can have varying complexity, and for the sake of my story staying relatively simple, I'm not going to describe it in too great of detail. Because that would be boring. This is the main part of the castle where the family is living, in this particular story.

If you would like an idea of what I imagined the castle of House Gresham to look like, take a look at my pinterest. I am Indigo Birds, and I have a board that I work on for this story called (drum roll, please!) Guild of Dragons (original, right?)

But seriously. There's a load of things on there that might help you visualize what I'm thinking about, in some capacity, when it comes to what things look like (In my feverishly geeky mind) when it comes to the tale I am telling. Some things are more interpretive than others, and there are probably a few extra pins in this section than I need. I just can't help myself. I get all geeky and excited and start pinning things for the story line, regardless of whether or not they're really relevant. So be gentle.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Thank you for all the reviews and follows! I'm seriously stoked!**

…

 **Chapter 7**

"Pain is the best and most reliable teacher," Tyt'o had called to Theodore and Draco as they had gingerly walked up the great stairway to their rooms above. Their entire bodies aflame with the first aches of what would be pain and soreness come the next morning, with certainty. Neither spoke much to the other, but entered their rooms covered in dust, and the stickiness of sweat from riding hours upon hours under the warm sun. It was early evening now, and supper would be set upon the setting of the sun, as Ursa Gresham had told them when they had hobbled back to the keep within Gresham Castle.

Following the race Hermione had set them upon, of which Theodore had ultimately won, they had made the journey back to the castle as a hushed group. After Draco's aggressive proclamation on the supposed worth of their Dragons, she had neither spoken a single word to them, nor cast a single glance to Draco. Tyt'o had remained equally as stoic beside her in an unspoken solidarity.

Theodore in particular had taken notice of how, from the very start, Hermione had put a distance between her person and Draco. However, now it was more pronounced after Draco's scathingly pointed choices in words. He wasn't going to be the one to break any silences in the group; none of them were friendly at this point.

Draco was seething behind his teeth, practically hissing inside his own mouth. Theodore had bested him in the race, and now the pair of Gresham nitwits were expecting him to what, "comb" the horses? What did that even mean? He'd never laid a hand on an animal like this until today? What in Hades was he combing? Where were the family elves, for that matter? His mind was racing in fury as he silently distained his counterpart for his victory against his person.

 _Nincompooping sarding blockheaded dalcop._ Draco rambled to himself wordlessly, grumbling even though he held his head high, feigning a proud facade. His loss to Theodore Nott had taught him what combing out a beast of burden had entailed. Not that Theodore's victory had spared him any work, simply not work that was quite as involved as Draco's. The horses were dusty, covered in dried sweat from a days ride and needed to be hitched to a shaded post, combed – _moving with the grain of the hairs-_ Tyt'o had been overly specific about that detail. Then rubbed down with a clean and soft cloth before Theodore had taken them each to their pen with fresh water, hay and grains.

Draco was _covered in the filth from these animals._ Hair, dirt, quite possibly even dung, he was certain of it. These creatures expelled waste like the world around them was one vast toilet. While combing out the second of the horses, it had decided to eject a stream of hot urine all over the dry ground in the stable, which had caused Draco to leap back in a yelp, revolted at the very sight. He was sure he caught a side-eye from that demon-beast, and he was even further certain that it was _on purpose._

Under the watchful supervision of Tyt'o, for Hermione wouldn't come within two arms lengths of him, and continued in her refusal to so much as look at him, he was shown how to take care of the animals in turn. Though Tyt'o explained why such work was needed, and how it helped the horse to stay healthful to be cleaned, Draco found himself in contempt of the obligation. His fingernails were blackened underneath with unknown contamination. His light hair was dusted darker with substances he couldn't identify yet he abhorred utterly.

By the fourth and final horse, he felt his body so utterly spent that at the beginning of the combing he had leaned against the beast in support of his legs, which felt boneless within his body. His comb moving over the body of the animal much slower than previously. He felt a rumbling noise within the body of that beast, followed unexpectedly with the motion that it had turned and its whuffling muzzle was next to his free ear. Too tired to shoo it off, he felt the warm breath snuffling along his hair and neck, and a gentle _bop bop bop_ as two velvety lips covered with tickly whiskers explored his hair and ears, though with great gentleness.

Draco pushed up and away from the animal lest it take a chunk out of his ear! "Mangy, foul creature," he told it, leaning away. The horses great brown head snaked further in to grab at him again with those dry lips, surely to take a piece of him with those huge teeth within. Still gripping the brush he flailed it between himself and the horse, and yet the animal continued to seek around it dodging his pathetic comb-waving as though it was a game, quite calm and curious about him. It's ears were pricked forward and it gave a very short nicker to him as he'd moved towards its hind end in his haste to move away from the perceived threat.

Cautiously, and with a sneer still on his face and wary posture, he'd moved back to finish the combing, while the horse continued to poke at his clothes and snuffle most pointedly around where his pockets would be located. It was perhaps looking for something?

"You are an imbecile," Hermione said from behind him, and Draco turned, breaking out of his task. "He's not going to chew your face off, he's looking for a treat." She rolled her eyes at him, and from her hip-pack, she pulled a long orange object out and tossed it under-hand to Draco. His dominant hand occupied with the comb, Draco bluffed disinterest and let the object hit the floor. Hermione scoffed as she turned, muttering about his idiocy until Draco could see she'd walked somewhere out of sight. He leaned over and picked up the item, not understanding what it was. The horse did though, and strained against his tether to make his lipping noises as he gave a light and begging nicker at Draco. His big brown ears pressed forward in interest at Draco's hand.

Slowly, Draco pushed the object toward the mouth of the horse as it used those velour soft lips that kept flapping to pick the item up from his hand. It was swooped into the mouth as it began chewing and crunching and nodding its head up and down as Draco gaped at the thing, having no understanding of what was happening. The horse finished the morsel quickly and sniffed at his hand for anything else he might be hiding. Finding nothing, it contented itself to press that soft nose into his hand, for a spell before Draco cupped the softness in his hand and gave it a gentle rubbing. The horse seemed to enjoy this for it held its head there until he stopped.

The show of gentility surprised Draco. No prior experiences with any animal, he was not certain what to make of the interaction, nor of what –exactly- he seemed to have fed this creature. Though, it surely enjoyed it. Draco chuckled as he noted that the horse had been quite greedy about consuming the item. "Was your tidbit quite enjoyable then, you great monster?" He asked it, a little playfully. The horse, not knowing what he was saying, still responded to the tone of his voice by bringing his head up and waggling his lips on the side of Draco's head. Draco put his hand up and gently applied pressure to protect himself. The horse took his direction without complaint and Draco let out a barking sign through his nose at the connection they had shared for that moment, and continued with his task of combing.

Around the corner where the doorway to the tack room stood, Hermione has listened to the exchange without watching, and felt herself a little taken aback at the way the horse –her's, ironically- had shown an interest in the strange youth. The horses in the Gresham stables were always broken with patience and affection, and the animals they bred were solely possessing of a good nature. There wasn't a cruel hair on their entire being, and they didn't know any a person to be different no matter what caste of man he was. From the mere stable hands, to the great Lord of the House himself, they were all the same to the horse. It was curious to her, that the horse still sought out so innocently to engage the young Malfoy.

When the horses were cleaned, and put back to stable for the night, the Gresham's had led their motley duo back into the keep and separated to their own rooms. Presumably to clean and dress for dinner.

Draco's feet felt as though they were made of the very rocks beneath the earth that the great God of Death had created the underworld with. Every step was near agony, and it seemed that despite any verbal complaints, Theodore moved with a stiffness quite like his own. As they topped the stairs, they gave each other a mutual nod of the head and wordlessly escaped to their own rooms.

Wanting nothing more than to collapse into peace and tranquility, Draco opened his room to find that his bed had been laid clean and smooth, which was a farther cry from the disheveled state he had left it. The bed, though notably uncomfortable the night previous, was suddenly quite appealing to him now that his every bone and muscle cried out to be released from use.

He automatically began the stripping of his clothes from his doublet, vest, and shirt, until he noted that a great metal tub had been situated to the right end of his room, behind a screen. It steamed plentifully, and he felt the memory of hot water across his body move him nearly to sigh audibly in anticipation. He finished the removal of his clothing, leaving them in a line to the door of his room as he approached the tub with his mind fixed at this single purpose.

The water was deliciously hot, to the point where it nearly hurt to plunge himself in it. His young body cried in release of its tension as he lowered into the sizzling waters, and he let loose a breath he had not realized he was holding, sinking himself until his entire body was covered, past his head. The deep tub allowed him to immerse himself sublimely in the heat and he held his breath as he did, for as long as he could. Surfacing, he'd leaned into the curve along the back to relish the curative warming over his body, feeling himself drift into comforts he felt he might have forgotten if it hadn't been for this god-send.

As his conscious slipped from him, he leaned his head to a curvature in the side of the tub, an indentation that felt, oddly, as though it were made for this very act alone. In that moment it was as if he were home again, without a single worry imaginable.

…..

Draco had not appeared for the meal by that evening, though neither Lady nor Lord Gresham was terribly alarmed by this. Theodore had waited by Draco's door, and even knocked a time or two to receive no answer following his own bath after their long day riding. The stretch of muscle from his inner knee all the way to his groin was especially tender, despite the long soak in the welcome hot bath that had awaited him as well upon returning to the keep.

So thus, Theodore had made the trip to the family hall alone, and had entered to find the scene much different from the one in the morning. The great table was set with great dishes and candelabras lighting the room with a soft light. Unlike the quaintness of the morning, the Lord and Lady were seated at the opposite ends of the table and their children closer to the parent of the same gender. Only one seat remained vacant, closer to Tyt'o and Loren at one end. As Theodore entered, he realized he'd joined them late. Which, despite that he was a guest, albeit one not as welcomed as others, showed poor manners on his part. He approached the end of the table where Lord Loren Gresham sat and bowed deeply without prompting. "I have kept your family waiting, My Lord, and for that inconsideration I apologize."

House alliances notwithstanding the boy did have good manners, Ursa was inclined to admit, and Loren acknowledged him with a raised hand. "There is nothing here to forgive, young Nott, this is a family table, and you are here as our guest. Your day has been long, and the first rides take their toll on a pupil." Theodore bowed again and took his seat.

Plates had already been served by the Houses staff, and attendants still bustled around the table pouring drinks and bringing additional accoutrements. The food before him looked savory and inviting, and inside his closed mouth he watered involuntarily at such a sight. Observing the family had begun the consumption of the food, Theodore started in on his own, careful to pay respect when dining as a guest.

His first bites felt like heaven, and only after he'd done it did he realize he'd closed his eyes for much longer than a single blink, until he snapped them back open. What revelation was this that this food was to bring him back to true life after such a day of hard work? For riding was just that; it a difficulty he'd never realized. In his very core he felt the warmth of that fare bringing him back to the plains of the living.

His ecstasy did not go unnoticed. "The first rides are always the hardest, Theodore," Ursa explained between delicate bites. "Your meals are wrought not only with the food that you see, but brews to fortify you for a restful sleep, and replenish what you have spent in energies this day." She smiled at him warmly, presenting openness and warmth. Theodore could have smiled at her, just then. Her face was so welcoming and kind, that he forgot himself as he felt his energy restore with every mouthful he took. "Tomorrow, and every day after, will always be easier." She assured him, finally.

The meal passed with the Greshams conversing congenially together. Discussing where Tyt'o and Hermione had taken their wards riding, and what was shown to each youth when it came time to comb and care for each animal. Loren seemed particularly interested in hearing that Draco, their misplaced guest, had been the one to comb all four of the animals ridden. He presented no questions to his children's methods, which Theodore observed offhandedly as the man seemed to genuinely _listen_ to his own children. As though their information was valuable counsel to him. Theodore had never been permitted to speak to his father in such a fashion, and he found it curious still that there was such equal share of consideration. Hermione's contribution carried as much weight as Tyt'o's.

When his food was consumed and he felt his body wholly contented, he leaned back into his chair as the discussion carried on between the Lord and his Children. Though Ursa sat at a farther part to the table, she sat back as he did with a goblet resting gently between her fingers, covering her mouth without drinking from it. She watched Theodore closely as he took in the dynamic so openly on display from her family and considered then, that he had no siblings of his own. Nor mother, it would seem, if information served her true. She wondered, then, what exchanges occurred at the table of his own House then, if he were so keen to watch what was happening her at the one they sat at presently.

Ursa had never attended with her Lord husband when he made travel to Houses from Malfoy, Nott, or any of the others that currently opposed the Guild. Loren considered Ursa's safety paramount, and brokered no disagreement on that front. Thusly, she had no knowledge of the Ladies of those Houses, save for whispers within letters she exchanged through the Houses in alignment to the Guild.

The report of the days work had ebbed away into a heated, yet friendly debate among Tyt'o and his father, with the occasional interjection from Hermione, about which of their younger stallions would be fit this autumn for breeding. At this point, the conversation had no longer posed of any interest for Theodore, as he didn't have any background or interest in the topic. At some point, Hermione had vacated her seat, and drug her chair noisily across the wood floor to situate herself closer to the end of the table, oblivious to any decorum and only interested in closing the gap between her brother and herself.

Gracefully, Ursa leaned herself toward Theodore and her hand gently rested on his forearm to catch his attention. When he looked to Ursa she smiled at him. Her bronze colored eyes were dark in the candlelight, but expressed a tenderness to him that caused him to feel uncertain. The kindness in her touch was foreign and while politeness dictated him to allow her the contact, his inexperience with it caused him discomfort. "You need not stay here, young Theodore," she said softly. "Come; walk me to the stairs so I can see you to bed. Your rest tonight will help you regain your strength again for the morning." She tilted her head toward the door very gently. He nodded slowly, and rose quietly to leave with her.

The trio of Greshams at the end of the table had not taken note of their mother leaving the table until Loren stood abruptly, aware that his Lady wife had risen. Tyt'o followed him as well and the conversation died down suddenly. She raised a hand to them and smiled. "Our guest has had a long day, and needs to rest for the 'morrow." She smiled to her husband, so sweetly and filled with love, that Theodore felt himself almost jealous to see a woman so kind to bestow such adoration upon another being. He raised his elbow to her, dutifully and as a proper man of breeding would, and Ursa accepted it by alighting her hand on it gently.

Theodore walked with Ursa quietly as the remaining Greshams returned to their seats, and as they exited hall seemed to pick their heated discussion back up again. The two walked silently together the short distance to the great stairs. To accompany the other any further would be seen as an act of impropriety otherwise as they were unrelated

At the base of the stairs, Theodore turned to Ursa and made to bid her a good evening when she placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled to him. "Take your rest tonight, Theodore. The days to come will bring more training as before until the master tutors return. Until then, Tyt'o and Hermione will see to your study on riding." Theodore nodded.

"My lady, if it not be too impertinent…." He hesitated in his question, and Ursa entreated him as kindly as she was capable.

"Yes, Theodore?"

"Your daughter spoke today of the Dragons, but briefly, telling us how they lose themselves when they brood?" Ursa nodded her understanding. "What meant she by this?" There was no malice, not ill intent behind the question. Truly Theodore possessed only scant knowledge of what a Dragon was surely to be.

"Theodore, there is much to be learned yet of Dragons in the months to come and Dragon behavior is but one facet of what you will learn in this journey to transcendence. This day has been long, and an answer to your query be yet longer still. Take your rest this evening, and your inquiries can be answered in the morn, when we take a meal again." She smiled, and touched his chin with a motherly tenderness that caused Theodore to feel a gentle heat in his cheeks. Her smile gave her eyes a little crinkle and while still young and beautiful her face had a sagely quality in its calmness. He looked upon her, and against all the teachings of his father, he felt that her word could be trusted.

"My Lord husband is the rider of our casts great sire, Goldoduur, and he can help assuage any questions you and young Sir Malfoy have about our Dragons. Remembering that Draco had not joined him that evening, his face pricked up with realization.

"You speak but true, good Lady." He acknowledged, though not daring to tell her of the slander Draco had spoken to Hermione while they rode their laps that afternoon. He was certain that she would learn of it soon enough, however. Seeing her smile so kindly at him, and comparing that to the _clear_ enmity it had caused her daughter, he found himself filled with pangs of discontent knowing she would hear of the callousness. Would she still bestow upon him her kind and inviting expressions knowing what his comrade had implied? "It would be better to have Draco present to ask his own questions as well." Theodore's hand found Ursas' at his elbow, and he bowed to her as a youth of proper upbringing should.

"Then we shall meet again by the morrow." Ursa told him, and provided her nod of acceptance at his courtesy. Theodore headed up the stairs, realizing again that his body, while replenished greatly with the meal provided, was very much aching to be rested.

As Ursa returned to the great hall where the voices of her family gradually became louder as she approached, she pondered then on her observations of the young Theodore Nott. How her contact with his person had caused him to petrify momentarily. His stiffness at their brief walk to the stairs. Though they had spent little time in his presence, she sensed that this youth was not one raised with any gentle or casual affections of a mother.

She dwelled on that possibility still again, and formulated that a young man without a mother was much like a man of the sea with no stars with which to guide his journey. She felt a little sadness prickle her as she thought of what would have become her own children had Ursa succumbed to any number of possible ends of her life. Many women, though there were many magicks to heal and prolong life, and combat great sickness, still lost their lives in childbirth. Much as Ursa had at the birth of Hermione, causing Loren to decide afterward that the necessity of additional heirs was unnecessary. Though they had never stopped sharing their marital bed, he had begged her to concede her fertility to ensure her life never be placed in jeopardy.

Ursa ceased her walk at the entry to their hall and observed her two very healthy and wondrous children as they spoke both openly and passionately with the husband she loved so deeply. Ursa smiled openly and thanked all the Gods for the fortunes of health, happiness and prosperities in their lives. Many families were unable to conceive any children entirely, and even when they did there were multitudes of perils awaiting children regardless. Her own mother had suffered the loss of one of her own babes only days after she brought him into the world. Ursa had been a young girl, but the sounds of her mothers agony for that loss as she cried endlessly in grief still haunted Ursa as a mother herself.

To watch her children and husband before her, she knew her life was filled with blessings she would thank the Gods for every day, until her last day. It was a true shame that any child in this world, regardless of what House they were born into, to have to be raised without the warmth of a mothers love.

…

Hermione knocked softly at the door to her mother's chambers. It was well after time for the girl to have gone to sleep, but Hermione had felt a pull within her after their daylong ride with Theodore and Draco. She craved reassurances from her mother as only a child could following a revelation.

The door opened and Hermione slipped in quietly at her mother's silent welcome. The room was an antechamber to the shared marital rooms, which she knew her father would be waiting for Ursa within. This room beside it was entirely her mother's area. A place the children had spent many nights with her in, while young. If they were frightened, or slept fitfully. Even as wee babes, they been there with here in their earliest years, asleep suckling at her breast through the night contentedly. It wasn't until they had become older children that Ursa had begun moving them to their own beds, and eventually to their own rooms. This room, for both Tyt'o and herself Hermione was certain, held memories of comfort and safety for him as it did her.

"Darling, what has you up so late?" Her mother asked, softly taking Hermione's hands into her own. She could see the trepidation written across her face, and gently pulled her to a decorated setee within the room sit beside her.

Everything she had kept bottled inside her through that day came tumbling out in a bubbled cry between tears and a wail as she flung her arms around her mother in a desperate embrace. Hot tears that had been held back on so many instances through the day when she replayed Draco Malfoy's words in her mind, their sinister implication had fueled her emotional state perpetually. Within the warmth of her mother's arms she released everything she held back. As she let loose and sobbed, Ursa held her closely and smoothed her hand gently over her daughters curled hair, soothing her with gentle shushing noises, as she would when Hermione was a baby.

Ursa didn't rush her daughter, she simply held her, smoothing her hair, and gentle rocked her as she cried into her mother's chest. It had been a hard day for more than just their guests had, it appeared. When Hermione's sobbing slowed until there were but a few hiccups, she raised from her mother's embrace, her eyes puffy and rimmed red and her cheeks tracked with tear marks. Ursa searched her daughters face with great care. "What gives you sorrow, my truest love?"

Hermione almost couldn't help herself, and felt more tears culminating at her eyes, blurring Ursa's face. There was so much she wanted to say, to blurt out; the incessant tension at having foreigners in their home, the malicious undertones of Draco's words, the terror she felt as she kept replaying the scenario in her mind where they failed to present their wards and she and her brothers lives were forfeit in raging inferno high within the mountains. The stress of it pressed down in her skull and the only place she could find release was through her eyes, it seemed.

Seeing her child's distress caused Ursa's chest to tighten protectively in an instinctual fight or flight response. Had something untoward occurred today? Was she harmed? Ursa's concern suddenly became her own panic. "Hermione," she urged, "Tell me what's happened, my love."

"I- th-th-th-ink Draco is going to h-harm the D-D-Dragons," She managed to stammer out, between hiccups and tears. She was beginning to become overly inconsolable, and Ursa fought her own emotions to take a deep breath and center her own mind before she called forth her magic, and incanted a calming wave as her hand swept over the back of Hermione's hair, and down her back. It bathed her with serenities and tranquility to bring her heightened excitement back down again.

A mother's magical ministrations knew no equal for a child. Hermione felt the refreshing magic strip her growing hysterics away from her mind gently and took her own deep breaths to chase away the remains. Wiping away the remains of her tears, she tried again to speak her fears to her mother.

The days events came flowing from her mouth like a river she couldn't stop: Draco's obstinacy, his latent implication, her own conclusions of his true purposes. Ursa listened diligently through her half-sobs and sniffles as her daughter held nothing back. When she had finished and her tears were dried, held her daughter close and tenderly.

"Trust you your father's wisdom, my love?" Hermione nodded.

"In everything, mama."

"What think you when young Malfoy will stand before our Dragons, then, sweeting?" Ursa challenged. The vision of her Lords great Dragon, and his fierce burning eyes as a guide for her question. "Think you he could bleed Goldoduur? The Mammoth?" For that was what his name meant.

Hermione shook her head. Fathers Dragon was the oldest in the lands, and had never been tethered to roost inside a dwelling or shelter and had grown far beyond expectation. His magnitude was undeniable, and terrifying. When Hermione was a small child, she had cried in terror the first time Goldoduur had brought his blazing gold eyes down to examine her as his riders female offspring. That was the first time Hermione had heard Dragon laughter: It was as a low rumbling noise, much like that of rolling thunder in far-off mountain peaks. It vibrated her to her very bones, and while her eyes beheld a great and fearsome creature, her soul recognized her ancestor's legacy. Her legacy, one day.

She shook her head, looking at her hands in her lap and feeling slightly foolish at her worries just then. A Dragon could not be cut down so simply. Certainly, they had vulnerabilities; especially they young Dragons. But it was arrogance to assume they could not be harmed at all as a Dragon itself was possessed of its own magics that proved difficult to overcome. Feats of powerful and dark magic were used to bring harm to Dragons, the likes of which were mostly unknown in the world anymore. It was many hundreds of years past since there were needs to pass such practices down as wild Dragons were so few, and far between.

"I think you will find that when the time comes, my love, the young Malfoy will find himself quite amazed at how difficult such a machination will prove." Ursa smoothed a stray lock behind her daughter's ear, tenderly. "Should he become every bit as good a rider as you or your brother, a bond with a Dragon….." she trailed off a bit wistfully. "That, my dearest, is forever."

Her parents had spoken many times of Dragon bonds, as had the masters and tutors they had learned from their whole lives. But true understanding of how it worked and what it would feel like still alluded her. It was yet one of their final lessons it seemed they would learn.

Hermione reached her hands around her mother and embraced her, and Ursa squeezed her tightly in return as she continued the subtle rocking of their bodies. The fire and candle light around them in the comfortable room provided a gentle ambiance that soothed them together. As much as she could, Ursa pushed magic from her body silently in their embrace and wrapped the two of them in it as a protective cloak filled with love and assurance. As a mother, Ursa would stop at nothing to protect her children, and in these coming months, she felt that much more than just tears would be shed as more challenges would arise to be vanquished.

…

Chapter vocab:

"Dalcop": Cop is an old work for head, making dalcop (literally a dull-head) a stupid person.

**In case it was vague; Hermione tossed Draco a carrot. Draco is the kind of bloke who wouldn't have seen a carrot before it was prepared into something edible, so the implication is that he's so far removed from common items and objects that this process for him faces him with many alien concepts.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Guest: Thank you SO much for your wonderful review! The first one did not post to the story, but that's ok! I totally saved it because it was a lovely thing to say, and I was VERY touched you took the time to write it! I will continue to try to make this a quality story for you, and anyone else enjoying it!

I also do not have a beta at this time. All errors fall squarely on my shoulders.

 **Chapter 8**

The gradually increasing brightness from the rising sun did not have nearly the same irritating effect on Draco as it had the morning before. This time he found himself pleasantly enveloped in a softness that reminded him of something, but he could not pinpoint what it was. His face was pressed into what was certainly some kind of cloud that had been captured from the heavens, for he could not remember feeling anything quite so luxuriant. He smiled as he rolled his head around, nuzzling around like a tiny infant kitten into the side of its mother.

Draco allowed himself some more time to bask in the resplendence that was this fantasy-like comfort beneath his head, and the even and warm comfort wrapped around his body as only the perfect bed cover could. As his mind gradually became more awake, and therefore aware, the question as to _where_ exactly he was formulated in his mind. _The bed he had occupied at the Gresham rat-hole had not been nearly so divine. Had it all been a dream?_

Upon opening his eyes and slowly adjusting to his surroundings, he realized that he was, indeed, still in the bedroom within the Gresham House. As his mind adjusted, his memories of the night before returned to him as well.

Draco had fallen asleep, exhausted, in the bathtub in his room. He had awoken as the light in the sky was but a small ember across the mountaintops, his hands and feet wrinkled and withered as an old man. His bath water remained comfortably warm, and it appeared that the dirt and grime had been washed away. He had sleepily removed himself from the water, dried himself on a warmed towel situated nearby and been alerted very suddenly following his return to the realms to the conscious and wakeful that his being was in fierce need of sustenance.

His stomach howled its indignation. So much so that he clutched it as it rolled around in a noisy wail of desolation.

The cries of his body were met quite excitingly by the aroma of what he was certain was ambrosia from the gods. The scent of food was thick and he eagerly sought out the source.

To the side of his bed had been left a meal with a still-steaming plate and bread that had surely only just been taken from an oven. The divine bouquet of its freshness caused his mouth to water quite unceremoniously. Not bothering to dress himself beyond the towel at his waist and paying no regard to any semblance of manners, he sat himself upon his bed and took to devouring the fare with a vigor that would have left him with discipline at his own families table.

Here, alone, there was no such need for pretenses, and though is muscles still ached from the days overuse, his body insisted that it required this meal, and at a breakneck pace to boot.

It did not occur to Draco to question who had provided the meal, or how it had arrived in his room. Lord Loren Gresham could have delivered it personally with his personal guard in attendance and Draco wouldn't have given a horse's rear end about it in that moment.

In his exhausted and depleted state he had still registered that his meal had indeed taste as delectable as it had smelled. Despite his overall low regard for the family of Gresham overall, he begrudgingly recognized that the morsels he was inelegantly cramming into his mouth felt as fitting to his needs as a perfectly tailored set of breeches and waistcoat of the finest quality.

It had not been long after his ravenous consumption of that meal that Draco had lain himself horizontally and soared rapidly into slumber. However, unlike the morning prior, he had experienced no ill comforts this time. His previously too-hard bed was no longer comparable to sleeping on the floor, and the bedclothes he was sheathed in were no longer irritatingly rough. The items that caressed him as he slept were in perfect harmony to his preferences, and Draco sighed with relief audibly.

Unlike the previous morning, he found himself in a better countenance overall. His deep sleep and hearty meal left him feeling, well, most excellent. He donned his clothing after performing his normal toilette routine within his room, and found himself shortly thereafter waiting this time for Theodore to emerge from his own rooms.

There had not been any spoken arrangement as to whether they would accompany each other, or when, only that it seemed implied given they were the only outsiders here within the House, and assuredly ones who were still holding no favor to the Lord and Lady. This, Draco was fairly certain of, biting back a grimace at the bastardly words he'd spoken to Hermione the day before with his little outburst at her over the sodding Dragon's blood. In exactitude, while he knew that Dragon's blood was guaranteed to bring the possessor gold and riches to buy their wildest whim, he himself did not factually know that blood was what his father was even interested in.

Draco recounted the conversation that occurred with his father in the late night before he had departed for the Gresham lands. First, by apparition to the boundary of Loren Gresham's homeland with Theodore as his companion side-along with his father Lucius. The experience left the two young men much worse for wear, and Draco had mortifyingly found himself heaving as soon as his feet touched the ground again. His fathers disappointed half-frowning sneer pointed down at him from the very top of his nose.

That midnight conversation had been less than enlightening as Lucius had pointedly withheld the background mechanics of _why_ Draco and Theodore were to travel to their Houses political adversary, to be effectively assimilated as a member of the Gresham House until their Dragon chicks had hatched and the two agents were soundly in control of the Dragons.

Draco lacked the information to understand logistics of it then, and in the space between that day and his present moment he still hadn't worked it all out. Too much still remained unknown about how Dragons behaved, and what the purpose of all this training the members of Gresham House harped on about relentlessly. Couldn't you just mount a beast and take to the sky? What difference did it make as to who rode it? Horses certainly did not have any discernment as to who rode on their backs; why was a Dragon any different? Offer a horse a little treat after a job well wrought and it seemed eager to provide you its loyalty. Beasts were all but the same, he wagered, and why would a Dragon be divergent?

Amid Draco's musings Theodore emerged from his own room and closed it securely behind himself; the previous days expenditures on his person restored and repaired as Draco's were. He bestowed a nod along with a salutation and the two consigned to enter the informal morning hall together, their unspoken unity as outsiders bound them, though they found themselves unable to offer and words of friendliness.

As the day before the family members had selected seating with no arrangement. Hermione was brushing Tyt'os hand from the cream as though she were batting away the explorative paws of a tiny kitten, admonishing him with, "No, you great warthog, you've had your portion. You can't drown your food in cream!" Ursa was vaguely trying to cover her own light laughter, and Loren had moved his own hand strategically to shield his own as Tyt'o then fully reached behind his sister to tap her opposite shoulder, catching her gaze for a mere second, before pilfering said cream on the other side. Her exclamation of having been bested by his surge in cunning rung out into a further escalated strife complete with her attempting to reach over _him_ to get it back.

With her brother's greater size, this was not possible, but Hermione refused to abdicate in the face of any task, no matter how surmountable. Being unable to compete with him in sheet force and domination, she adjusted her tactics to poking him repeatedly at the side of his ribs, causing him to crunch at his side to try and shield her assault. He still held the cream she desired, which she had no hope in winning at this rate.

Less effected by the intimacy of the setting, and immature display playing out before them the two took their seats offering still-formal greetings to the Lord and Lady both. Ursa grinned delightedly to Theodore, who had gravitated to a seat closer to her rather than Loren, leaving Draco closer to Hermione and Tyt'o who remained locked in battle over the remaining prize of the cream. He took to customizing his breakfast as he saw fit and noted that this morning, there was some manner of roasted animal flesh and what appeared to be a portion of eggs.

"Good Morning Theodore. Draco." Ursa addressed, and Theodore found himself smiling in return to her friendliness. From his seat, Draco emulated but his eyebrow pricked up subtly at his fellow guest at Theodore's clearly friendly engagement. He chided himself mentally for having missed any goings-on the night previous around the formal table. He noted that, exhausted or not, he would enforce his commitment to maintain a presence while in this House, if for nothing else that to glean _any_ possible telling facts about the Greshams.

"Did you rest fully, Theodore?" Ursa inquired, sipping daintily from a steaming cup, which contained something strong and scented. After his mouthful, Theodore smiled and responded.

"Quite, my Lady. You were most correct about the elixirs. I slept quite deeply."

"I am pleased to hear it." Theodore tried _not_ to keep smiling, even though it felt very much like he should. Though, he did find himself grow conscious then of what his repeated shows of friendliness might interpret as, given the silent scrutiny of the Lord Gresham while at the family table. Theodore mentally brought himself back to his nature state of passivity, feeling himself discomforted at the idea that he might have overstepped his boundaries with the Lady of the House. Such mistakes were inexcusably in poor taste, not to mention the Lady Ursa Gresham _was indeed old enough to be his own mother,_ and by no means did he wish there to be any misinterpretation to his return of her gestures. It simply felt comfortable, and right.

Though Loren kept a stern eye to the two young men at his table, he himself felt keener to observe the Nott youngster more so than the Malfoy. Once the upset had quelled in his Lady's chambers the night previous, and his distressed daughter had been seen to her rooms, he lay with his beloved wife in their marital bed, spending great care in each other's arms reaffirming their love and affections for the other well past when they should have been seeking their dreams. In the afterglow following, nakedness unrestrained and limbs practically useless, she has spoken then to him of her observations of the two boys; how in her heart she felt such empathy to a young man devoid of the love and affections of a mother.

As she had confessed her empathy for the young man, Loren had been saturated with the reminder that while she had conceded her ability to conceive more of his heirs, and done it without complaint, it was at _his_ ardent request, not hers. Their two children were brilliant and capable and Loren was filled with endless pride and joy over them. He truly could not desire any greater gift, and their lives had been filled with blessings aplenty through the years as the two of them grew more and more into adulthood. His wife's near-death during childbirth had rocked him to his very core.

He had not railed, and he had not caused a scene; he had simply appealed to her on a level she could not refute: He applied to her logic. In the deepest vault of his heart, he knew that he did this out of nothing more than selfishness for himself. Upon her recovery, he built a case that she could not deny, and in her consent, he successfully repudiated the dreams they has shared to conceive again.

Ursa had understood it from a logical position; it had been a burden to hear heart she had carried without complaint. Any sorrow she felt through the years she poured into focusing on the blessings she had achieved. Their love had never suffered for it, but Loren could feel the tinges in her demeanor over the years, when her eyes grew wistful and longing. Or when the cries of a newborn rang in the halls in the fellow Guild Houses they visited, Loren could see his wife's joy darkened at the reminder of what she had given up. Though he loved her with ever speck that was his being, he knew well and good how reprehensible it had been for him to take that from her.

Ursa had spoken that night of how she knew he was to be regarded warily, but that she deduced, no, she _was certain,_ that they young man suffered loneliness and knew no true warmth of love in his life. For this, Loren felt himself vigilant for his wife: Her brilliant mind was methodical and unrelenting, but her heart was such that it loved without restraint and was prone to blind her to ill intent. He could not bear any possibility where his wife grew to love this young man, only to have it turned against her duplicitously.

Loren witnessed his paramour as she carefully cultivated her conversation with young Theodore exuding kindness, while the bickering between his own children having subsided into companionable exchanges that they excluded their other House guest out of pointedly. It seemed this left the two of them on the outskirts of what transpired at the table, though that hardly seemed reason enough to engage him. Unlike Ursa, Loren had no interest in developing any quid pro quo with this young man, and allowed a choice under different circumstances he might be debating with fellow Guild Houses in which manner to return him to his own home; in one piece, or many?

The notion having come to him in an uncharacteristic spell of dark thoughts, Loren chuckled in spite of himself. His conflict was exactly with the Lord Malfoy in specific and not young Draco at all. Rationally he recognized that his feelings stemmed from the ever-present unease at how vulnerable a position he was in, and not borne of any direct malice to the young man. As Draco had shown absolutely no interest from the get-go in his daughter, he had eased back in the discomfort of believing any conflict would arise from that potential. And from the tale Hermione had told her mother, Ursa had assured him that his daughter entertained no notions of affection for the young light-haired lord.

He didn't even have to disguise his pleasure with that; should this venture prove disastrous at any turn, he was comforted that Hermione would not slip serenely through his fingers and into the bedchamber of the young Malfoy, and in a House with a father-in-law whose allegiance was sworn to a man who had vowed to destroy their Guild.

The tinkling laughter of his wife broke Loren's reverie, as it did that of his son. Tyt'o was a dutiful boy and most concerned where his mother was concerned. Loren questioned if the unanticipated interest Ursa took in the Nott youth would cause any subterfuge between the two young men should she continue this pursuit.

Loren cleared his throat and looked at his wife's captivating face. She noted his reach to her dutifully, and bade Theodore luck and strength for the day ahead of him, insisting that the four of them pack more food than the day prior to ensure their energy as they continued. Loren found himself aware then that the expressions he witnessed from this boy that her concern was not lost on him. He agreed to her dutifully, and Loren rose from his chair without word.

Having captured the attention of the table, Loren addressed the youths before him, his own included. "Eachan the Horse Master returned night last and has informed me that the masters come presently." He spoke to his daughter and son. "No more than another two days, and you two will use the time wisely in continuing to instruct our guests in their riding." He looked then to Draco, and Theodore. "Tyt'o and Hermione will share their knowledge to bolster you. The masters available soonest are Warlock Black and Necromancer Mora."

"Father," Hermione started. "What of Warlock Alastor?" Loren smiled at his daughter without reserve. The great Warlock Alastor Moody was his daughters personal favorite; the only tutor she'd ever had that seen her not as a female, but a competent student. Any challenge laid for her brother, he had also emulated for her. Most of their tutors had some level of trepidation with instructing a female, not personally viewing it as an effort of great worth to him. Though, Loren Gresham minced no words in explaining to them that he wished them tutored in all things, together as equals.

"Warlock Moody will be at least a moon hence to arrive as he has been otherwise detained in other trainings." He explained to his daughter, and Hermione resigned herself to a nod. As she would later tell her brother, she looked forward to seeing how strenuous the gnarled Warlock designed his approach to their fellow pupils. Knowing the Warlocks adamant refusal to tutor any children within the coalition House Gaunt had formed; Hermione suspected that the direction he would design for these two would be of particular interest. It would certainly pose no easy feat to accomplish.

"We will use our time wisely, and efficiently, father," Tyt'o told his father dutifully and rose to leave the hall. Hermione followed suit, and kissed her father's cheek affectionately before they left, leaving the Lord with a smile reminiscent of his daughters carefree early youth when kisses from her mama and papa were something she couldn't get enough of. These days it seemed they were fewer, and far between as she crept closer and closer to the independence of true adulthood.

Draco and Theodore, though he kissed over Ursa's knuckles respectfully whereas Draco only bowed to her, followed them once again into the breech that was riding horses.

Upon arriving at the stables again, it was Tyt'o that procured the needed riding tack to adorn their steeds for their riding lesson, and Hermione this time spoke a little more to the pair than she had the day prior, and seemed less on edge concerning the details. She pointed out first to Theodore that he had to ensure to double check the buckles, speaking with confidence and knowledge from years of her own experience. With Draco, she commended him, though a bit tersely, in the gentility he'd shown his animal the day before, relating that to how he inserted the horses bit into the mouth.

Draco would not speak to this, but he preened a moment that she had noted it; he had not realized she had seen it. He also questioned why such a thing would matter to him, and further examined in his mind why he should care.

As he presented the joined metal pieces just before the horses lips, carefully working with the horse rather than against him (or her, he didn't yet know) to move the metal behind the teeth at the back of the mouth, he quietly enjoyed the velvet snout once more with his palm. The horse was gentle and pliant and professed no objection to Draco as he placed the bridle over the forward-facing ears, connecting the buckle together under the jaw. Draco found himself trying to determine if this horse was the same one who had whimsically battled with him when Draco tiredly attempted to defend the animals' careful examination of his person with a horse brush. Admittedly, he could not tell. Though the horse seemed sedate and kind, it had not exhibited the same _uniqueness_ in personality. _Must be a different horse,_ he thought to himself.

The four riders had affixed their riding gear along with two extra horses to trail behind, and walked their animals across the bailey and bridge, out into to the same barren and dusty riding arena they had utilized before. There were a number of other places that Tyt'o and Hermione could have selected to bring a change of scenery, but they had agreed to keep their environment predictable to keep distractions at bay.

Hermione had secured more fulfilling meal options from the kitchen prior to leaving, and hung the sack of food on a stubby tree branch in the shade to keep it from the warm sun along with several bladders of water. Together, she and her brother paired off with the young Nott and Malfoy individually; Tyt'o and Theodore together, and Hermione accompanying Draco.

Despite her earlier praise of his treatment of their animals, the young Gresham had not forgotten her wards lack of couth, and had resolved that through the rest of the ridings they would supervise, she was going to ensure that he rued his slicing commentary. She acknowledged it was likely to be pettier than she should deign to confess aloud, but she decided to justify it "for the greater good".

In this exercise, the two siblings had split the open area into their own halves in which they walked their pupils through a series of turns, and circles throughout, and then returning to the start point. As Draco walked Hermione took liberty at poking the end of a stick she'd found at him in various places, pointing out where his posture was failing and out of alignment. At the fourth jab, Draco wheeled on her with vexation. "Must you insist in prodding at me incessantly?" he hissed at her. Hermione donned a smug smile in response.

"Yes. It is an absolute necessity, in fact." She straightened herself primly as her own horse walked smoothly beside his own. Draco rolled his eyes.

"The pointlessness of this is in fact quite painful." He commented, and Hermione poked him _hard_ in the arm causing Draco to hiss and wince away from her.

"Hold your tongue then; it is not!" She exclaimed.

"Then pray tell, what precise purpose do we have in learning this?" He challenged. His lighter eyes were squinted with annoyance, and Hermione had noted to herself that she had never seen eyes so light before. While she found the color to be quite a fascination, she agreed to herself that the bearer of them was entirely exasperating. Much like a young colt who had been spoiled without a lead and allowed free-run for too long. She rolled her own copper colored eyes at him, but realized that without a reason it was likely he wouldn't find inspiration in the materials he was instructed.

"Dragon riding is quite like riding a horse," she began semi-conversationally. Her normal imperious overtones quelled intentionally in an attempt to draw his interest. "Form is important to hold as the body must be strong to combat the forces of the winds. Though, there are obvious exceptions." She added. "There motions are a bit different and not quite as many chances you'll slip off and fall to your death. " Draco balked.

"What?!" Hermione waved a hand at him as thought to pacify his valid concern, _as though it were truly no problem._

"Oh, that rarely happens. Father has ridden his Goldoduur for nearly two score and he's never fallen!" The mention of the name peaked Draco's interest.

"Who is Goldor?" He asked, Hermione shook her head and corrected him carefully.

"Gold-o-duur." She emphasized the last vowels carefully. "It's very important you learn names properly; Dragon's appreciate courtesy, and he is fathers bound Dragon; His name means 'The Mammoth'." She said without hiding her pride. The Dragon was, truly, a mammoth indeed and Hermione secretly felt a thrill zip through her at the fantasy she played in her mind when their two wards laid eyes on the colossal Dragon for the first time.

"Appreciate courtesy?" Draco challenged, presenting his token sneer, which Hermione had come to find herself in absolute loathing of. "A Dragon is little more than a large beast," He patted the shoulder of the horse he rode. "No more brains than this steed I sit upon now."

In shock, Hermione reigned her horse to a complete stop, which Draco mimicked once he noticed her. Her face was positively incredulous towards him, and she gave him a disgusted once-over. "You truly believe our Dragons to be mindless leviathans, then? No more brains than that of a horse?" Draco sensed in her statement and reaction that, though his information had come from a source he had presumed to trust, his father, that it was in fact vastly inaccurate.

"Aren't they?" he asked, a little quietly. Hermione wanted to soften to him at that question. It seemed then that he had been informed most incorrectly in what he faced, and for that she discovered she found a little pity for him. Thought not much, the boy remained a complete sod, and she had already vowed she would outwardly maintain her scorn for his very existence.

Rather than answer him directly, she elected a more informative path. "Recall you when you cared and cleaned the horses we rode?" Draco nodded. "The one you I floated you the carrot for?" She patter her own animal, identifying him for Draco. "When he and you parlayed, did you think he a mindless in his quest for delicacies upon your person?"

The young Malfoy considered her implication, and recalled that despite the pliancy of the animals previous, they had been both easy to direct and docile to care for. The one she now sat astride had displayed interest in his person and the interaction had showed intelligence in that the beast had no fear of his pitiful attempt to use a horse comb in defense of a creature whose primary diet consisted of vegetation. Draco shook his head side to side.

"All animals, magical and non-magical have feelings, Malfoy. Some possess the capacity for more complex higher thought and communication than others, but they are not mindless." Hermione stroked her dark horse with tenderness. "My noriker is a good and proper mount; he is dutiful without much mischief and gentle to the stable hands."

"How does he then compare to the back of a Dragon?" Draco inquired, and Hermione winced a little, knowing that an honest answer from here would reveal how autocratic she had spoken of riding Dragons. She, in fact, had _only once_ sat astride a Dragon. It remained the single most terrifying and exhilarating experience of her young life. Never mind that it hadn't even involved flight, because she had been too tiny to maintain safety at the speed at which a Dragon flew.

Hermione's very first, and sole contact atop a Dragon, was in fact Goldoduur. While she and her brother had been young, the Dragons had taken a keen interest in making contact with the pair. Small children tended to have a great deal of significance with Dragon kind, her father had explained, especially those who belonged to their riders. Dragon magic was naturally quite attracted to early childhood magic; historically when a rider produced offspring, the immense animals found themselves drawn close to their riders young, as they would their own. Something about those early buds of magic within a child captivated a Dragon in close proximity to a human being, though Hermione did not understand what the mechanics behind this was. Not yet, anyway.

Hermione concluded that truth was logically a better option than farce. "Only a bonded rider can take a Dragon to the sky," Hermione met Draco's eyes, even though she felt herself embarrassed and deflated admitting this. "We will all get our chance when the chicks are hatched and grow." Before Draco could get to his next question, Hermione deflected clumsily with segueing into their next moves. They had lingered without riding long enough. Tyt'o and Theodore had been working much harder through their courses as the opposite pair had stopped to parry their debate.

"This time through the course, I want you to bring your horse to trot through one round, then up to canter and hold."

Draco did as bade, and through the course of that morning, Hermione grew pleased to witness his progress: His posture improved, and his confidence had grown a little more in his ridership. The sun had not been nearly as hot as it was the day prior, and fluffy little clouds had begun to dot the skies above them. As summers wore on, rains were common in the afternoons, which could put a slight damper on riding outdoors, but for the time being the weather held beautifully.

Permitting only a short break for water, and an apple for each rider, the cores of which were given to the horses who gobbled them up greedily, and they pressed onward with their designated partner. This time for Draco though, Hermione bade him to bring the horse to gallop and showed him how to press himself into the animal without unintentionally goading it to run faster, but to ease the bouncing as he rode. The efforts intent were to strengthen the muscles of the body, and elevate a rider's confidence.

True to her intent, Hermione worked Draco hard, and then pressed him and his horse for more. Amazingly, Draco bore it without complaint and question, and at the midday, the four took a rest while Hermione and Tyt'o tied their own horses up, and walked Theodore and Draco's to cool them down. Once the horses settled, they switched their saddles to the two spares they had brought along, who had waited patiently at the edge of the clearing.

Theodore and Draco ate and talked intermittently, discovering themselves again ravenous for sustenance and traded tidbits together that they had learned throughout the morning. Draco was fascinated to learn that there were only two adult Dragons here in Morvan Rove, and not some great flock. That the female, Imri, currently brooded her nest and had not left since she started instinctually nesting, which had begun during Ostara in the previous year. Theodore further told him that Dragons, while nesting and brooding, became _dangerously_ feral and protective to their territories; to the point that they would defend them violently. Tyt'o had shared cautionary tales handed down from his ancestors of how careless warlocks of old had discovered this by apparating into Dragon territories trying to cultivate and capture Dragon chicks.

They found themselves beset aflame and devoured by the Dragons, who then tracked and followed the invaders to their homeland, and besieged those lands with fire and terror. The Dragons had only ceased when the last body had stopped its thrashing.

Draco shivered at the telling of this. _This explained why they had not apparated into Morvan Rove, but had been transported quite painstakingly by carriage the whole dreadful trip._ Theodore commented as much as well in agreement.

Tyt'o and Hermione joined the pair for their own lunch, though it was not as much work to teach, it was still an effort to ride. Along with meats, cheese and fruit, Hermione had pilfered a smallish round loaf of bread and a small bladder of churned cream that she split into four quadrants. Though she had originally intended to secret it away greedily to split with her brother, her conscious got the better of her. Theodore and Draco had ridden so well, and presented much less obstinacy that she split her victual delicacy into four quadrants and handed each boy their own portion.

The two newcomers might not feel the warmth of friendship to her or her brother, but as they bit into the bread, discovered the concealed delights of walnuts and dried mountain berries, their eyes lit up like they were children tasting their first sweets. That alone gave her a little boost of happiness, and Tyt'o smiled with gladness that she, quite literally, had broken bread with them.

Once the morsels were consumed, and horses mounted, the riding continued. Repeatedly the Gresham's ran their fellow pupils through the courses, this time joining them through many runs and altering the directions to keep them from sinking into a routine. Tyt'o paired with Theodore to ride parallel on some runs, and then switched to ride aside Draco while his sister brought up the rear behind. The spotted clouds from earlier that morning had bloomed into foreboding thunderheads, which lingered along the tops of the peaks that surrounded the valley that was their home. As the afternoon wore further on, the heat of the sun made the air quite stuffy and thick, so much that the dust the horses kicked up grew oppressive and caustic. Bolstered by the successes of their day, Tyt'o convinced Hermione to agree to head the crew back early, but with a detour along the way.

Neither young man had any additional chances to inquire further with their curiosities over Dragon behavior and lore, but this presented the perfect window in which to do so.

Retrieving their two spare horses and tethering them to his sister and himself, Tyt'o led the troupe through a yonder path they had not traveled. As with the entrance to their hidden arena, the woods were thick but the air cooler, the direct sun blocked by the canopy of intermingled deciduous and coniferous trees above, it accentuated the mosses and low-growing vines that littered the forest floor.

Tromping carefully through the single-file path, there was a heavy feeling of magic through those woods that whispered along through the trees and brought light tingling to Theodore and Draco as they traipsed through it. Birds calls they could not recognize rung through the air around them and split the silence as the two wondered and observed, catching the faintest hints of movements beyond trees far from them, or the occasional twinkling of lights that sparkled before disappearing.

Hermione watched as both Theodore and Draco craned and stretched to get some sense for what lived and moved around them, their mounting questions quite evident in their curiosity.

"Hyter sprites," she said pointed out. "Silkies and lulls, spriggans sometimes, even, nearer the waters." She explained. "The forests here are filled with them. Dragon magic pulls them close, especially the small ones." Just as she finished, the whizzing of miniscule wings zinged past like a hummingbird and she laughed gently.

"Dragon magic?" Theodore turned his upper body, though his muscles objected, to hear her better.

"Aye, Dragon magic," she confirmed. "It's elemental, and where the Dragon calls his home, their magic feeds the lands." Hermione gestured around them. "'Tis why this wood is thick with fae; they swarm to it. It tingles at your limbs; Can you feel it?"

Theodore looked down at his hands, the reigns of his horse still held within them. _He could._ Very much so, even. The deeper they delved into the woods, the less inconsistently he felt the lapping of the magic in his surroundings. Draco felt it to. It was as though a mother cat was cleaning her kitten and it lapped at his own magics within. "Yes." He squeezed his hands open and shut, absorbing and considering the feel of it, and looked around. "It's everywhere in here."

Hermione smiled at him and looked around as well. It was unguarded and shared the awe that Theodore felt, and showed her love for the place she called her home. Theodore was stuck then at how that smile lit up her face and how her copper colored eyes danced while she looked through the trees0, her face normally set into an intentional grimace when she looked at either himself or Draco. The smile was much like her mothers, he concluded.

Draco had glanced back at the two, though the horses all continued walking beneath them, and caught a brief glimpse of the smile she had shot to Theodore, and felt an unexpected pang within himself. It was a feeling he did not recognize, only that he distinctly didn't like it. The wonder and awe he felt only moments ago felt tainted slightly after that, and he righted himself within his saddle to glare into the back of Tyt'o Gresham as they continued to plod through the thicket.

The light making its way through the trees increased as they neared a break in the tree line, granting more space as the steeds exited to allow them out of their single-file line. Knowing where they had come to, both Hermione and Tyt'o dismounted their horses, as Theodore and Draco were struck dumb by the sight before the. The parting of the trees revealed an obscure clearing that was pressed against the side of a mountain, from a stone overhang covered in wild vines and moss cascaded a modest but plentiful supply of water. The flow gave off a tranquil sound and a light mist floated through the air, catching the rays of sunshine that slipped through the trees, sending rainbows and glittering droplets of area all around. In the daylight, the floating droplets appeared as floating jewels that floated along the air.

The opening was just large enough to fit all six horses and their four riders without cramping the space. Knowing the area well, Hermione and Tyt'o dismounted and tethered their horses with enough slack that the animals could help themselves to the moisture.

Dropping their hoods behind them, the Greshams both negotiated their way over slippery and jagged rocks that bordered the stream the waterfall gave birth to, and each reached their hands to the water to pull back a drink within their cupped palm. Hermione motioned to their guests to dismount and join them while she wet her hands again and cleansed her face with the waters.

Theodore was captivated by the feel of magic that flowed through his surroundings was palpable here, and he dismounted in kind with his companion. As he approached with Draco, he noted that the floating mist around him was, actually, not mist at all, but the twinkling lights of tiny flying creatures with within the air, and they were dancing around all four of them. Hermione and Tyt'o shared a furtive smile together.

"Our ancestors christened this place 'Dragons Tears' when first the Greshams brought the great gold Dragons here to Morvan Rove," Tyt'o told the other two males. "When first a Gresham child is brought into the world, the family gathers here beneath the stone to baptize the child." Theodore reached out to the water and felt not only the wetness of it, but also the tenacious concentration of a magic he had never experienced before. It was like what he felt in the air, yet it left the flesh of the part of his hand in contact alight with sensation, and he pulled it away to examine himself.

"Dragon magic." Hermione smiled at him, and in turn touched the water again.

"How does it get here?" Theodore asked in his attempt to disseminate the workings. Her copper eyes were filled with wonder and delight as she spoke to him, surrounded by a supernatural power she had known the whole of her life.

"The Dragons have lived with us in these mountains, and their magic permeated into everything that surrounded them. This water-" She offered him her cupped hands filled with it, and he opened his own beneath hers to accept her offering "Comes here from the Upper Mountain Reaches, and fills the valley with their magic. When a Dragon makes a home, their magic rests there and in it grows a place of great reverence. It becomes part of the earth, and part of the people as well." Theodore drank in her words as he drank in the water, and felt warmth sweep through his innards as though he had drank from a warmed bowl of soup. The unfamiliar magic danced through his core, and teased at his own mirthfully. He found his body shivering in response, though not unpleasantly so.

"In the days of old, important ceremonies were performed and concluded in places like these within the mountains, for there are many such as this that bring fresh water from the high mountains where the Dragons nest." Tyt'o supplied, excluding the subtext of how the area that the four of them now stood, feet and ankles atop the wet stones of the creek had been used by former Lords and Ladies as a place to conceive their future airs, dancing together in the woods filled with Dragon magic. Hermione knew what her brother omitted, and a blush crept unexpectedly to her cheeks that Tyt'o noticed, but drew no attention to.

Hermione brought yet another handful of water to Draco in offering, and he accepted it as Theodore had, lifting it to his lips tentatively as both Gresham's copper eyes witnessed it expectantly. When he hesitated, Tyt'o gave him a friendly nudge with his hand.

"An offering of Dragon waters from a member of the House is a symbol to us of kinship and belonging." Draco brought the waters to his lips and as he drank in the liquid, his light eyes widened at the sensations he experienced within his body. "Our ancestral mothers would bring their sons and daughters to such a place to bless her children with this magic in prayers for long lives, healthy sons and daughters of their own, great prosperities for the House."

"Before we take our pilgrimage into the mountains to seek the great nest, we will bring you to such a sacred place again and father will bless you as he did us, when we were young children." The daughter of the Gresham house touched again her hands through the falling waters, the wetness darkening her sleeves down to her elbows, yet her expression had turned so dreamy upon her young face, it was as if she intended to sink herself into the falls and simply drift away with them in absolute bliss.

Their first introduction to Dragon magic completed, the Greshams' collected their wards and returned them all back through the wooded paths, leaving the sacred and enchanting mountain clearing behind them, and back to the paths taking them to the castle. The trek back was, as always, sparse on conversation; Both Draco and Theodore found themselves unexpectedly cowed by their experiences that afternoon. The residual sensations within their magical bodies was unlike any sorcery they had ever embraced before.

As the two of them lay in bed and the night overtook the land, the stars and moon brightening the vast sea of dark, each of them toiled in their minds the greatly unexpected revelations they had that day.

For Theodore, it was the lore and history of the great Dragons and how he felt a deep yearning to sit for hours into the night in the firelight, and hear Ursa Gresham recount the same tales she had told her children. The stories of the Gresham line to the beginning and the first riders and how the Dragon magic had changed everything around it. With Draco, the sight of the floating fae folk within the deep of the mountains, and the vibrant magic that had enveloped him as he stood there listening to the Greshams as they spoke of their lands. Even though he was an outsider, the force he had consumed had infused his very nucleus with its presence, uncaring and undiscerning as to his allegiances and his own House.

As his last conscious thoughts left his mind that night as he drifted into sleep, satiated by another nights warm meal infused with restorative elixirs, a vision of the copper eyes of Hermione Gresham flashed before him, ablaze with magic from her homeland as she basked in the water which fell from the mountains.

…

 **AN: So here are a few familiar characters. They might all be a little OOC from canon (but so is most of this story, so it's no big shocker there, right?), and there is an OC with the necromancer, which you'll just have to stay tuned to learn more about!**

 **And lol, Dumbledore quotes.**

 **Also, also, jebus what a behemoth of a chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Thank you all for your patience. I'm sorry it took so long to crank this out. Special thanks to Guest and pgoodrichboggs for the reviews!**

 **Chapter 9**

The days following passed unremarkably enough. A morning routine established for both Theodore, and Draco each: Rising early, preparing and dressing themselves, and joining the Gresham family in the informal smaller dining hall. This was followed by a day worth of hard riding with Tyt'o and Hermione overseeing their growing skill on the back on their family's horses. Their fumbling uneasiness was giving way smoothly to confidence astride the back of a moving animal, which the Gresham siblings found pleasing. The evenings found them fatigued, and drooping as they washed, dressed and fell into their beds each night. Their bellies were sated with a meal, and muscles wailing silently as they closed their eyes.

That morning when Theodore and Draco joined the Gresham table for morning meal, there was a single additional chair that sat without an occupant at the table. Though they did not hesitate in settling themselves in to the table to the comfortable pick-and-choose style the Greshams had introduced them to, Draco glanced to the spare seat and then to Tyt'o, and Loren without commenting.

As the normal pace of their mornings came to a close, and no one had brought up the topic of the vacant chair. Loren Gresham

"Warlock Black arrived quite late last night," Loren advised to the four students. "I suspect he will be just a little later in rising after his long ride." Ursa nodded in agreement.

"Riding the lands to the mountains is a chore, certainly." She commented, and then after a thought, added. "Theodore, Draco; have you yet to write your families?" Ursa had carefully crafted the mention of 'family' as opposed to mentioning a specific maternal parent. Though not willing entirely to admit it aloud yet, she had begun to feel the stirrings of affection for young Theodore within her, and realized that the inquiry could be quite callous toward him.

The question took the two entirely off-guard. It hadn't been suggested, but the notion of passing letters home hadn't occurred to them either. Given that they were essentially bound to the House of Gresham until such a time they could leave. Presumably with the precious commodities they were here to conquer in tow. Neither of them spoke a moment, not having conferred with the other on the matter.

"No, my Lady," Draco offered. "We have not yet written to our families." Ursa smiled congenially to him and sipped delicately on a steaming brew in a thick clay-fired cup.

"As you await the days instruction after the rousing of Warlock Black, prithee, write to your families of your safety here at House Gresham and allay their concerns for your wellness." She gestured to her husband. "My Lord will see to it they be ridden by Eachan to the borders and sent by owl."

The two young men nodded their consent to Ursa. As they settled farther into their new pattern, Draco allowed his mind to travel back to the home he had traveled from to come to this foreign and rival House. Its cold and aristocratic interior was adorned with far more flourish and lush decorations than that of the Greshams; it showcased their wealth and status as a successful lineage and Lordly class. Here, however, in these Morvan Mountains, with this competing family, he noted no such finery nor frivolity. There was a simplicity to the decorative items he saw, and a far greater homeliness within the walls where they resided.

A pleasant laughter interrupted his train of thought as he broke from the dungeons of his mind, noting that the Gresham's continued to share in lively, friendly conversation. Though neither he, nor Theodore participated by adding any input to them, they were still present for the pleasantries being exchanged. Lady Gresham's beautiful face was alight as she listened, and engaged in commentary and conversation. Her lovely features were mirrored in her daughter, Hermione, whose animation was both alien and magnetizing to Draco at the same time.

Sampling his own drink politely, his light eyes darted from the daughter to her brother, comparing their features in turn. They were so closely matched in eye and skin, though in hair and build they were unique from the other. There were few Houses within The Unified that had a more than their sole heir, and thus very sparse comparisons that he could call upon. He had no siblings himself, though he wondered in that moment if there had ever been any consideration for more children.

Draco thought back to his mother, alone save but for their House elves and House staff. There was no one else that resided there with her to provide any sort of buffer between her and his father. _Father,_ Draco winced. His sire's propensity for cruelty was well-known. From a young age, Draco had often heard, and witnessed on a few occasions, his mother returning to her rooms with silent tears leaking across her perfect pale cheeks. Her blond hair eschew and beautiful dresses rumpled or torn in places. He was always careful that he never alerted her that he saw her in such a state. The state of her disarray gave her great shame to be used in such a way. As he had grown towards manhood, and understood more of what happened behind the doors of a man and wife, he found a building confliction within him in his admirations for his father; while he was loyal to his House to the very core of his being, as well as his family, he found the perpetual misuse of his beautiful mother to be distasteful.

While his mother, a reserved and poised woman, was nothing like the Lady Gresham whom he observed quietly, she was still the only source of warmth that Draco had ever known.

Breaking from his thoughts of his home and family, he found it necessary to give a favorable expression to the table, and he smiled slightly.

By the closing of the meal, the newly arrived instructor had still not joined the gathering. It was still early morning and the chill of the night still hung in the air outside. Tyt'o looked to Loren as the participants began to transition to their next activities following their companionable morn meal. "Should we take Nott and Malfoy to the libraries while we are in wait of Warlock Black?" His mother chimed in, with a motherly, but musical tone.

"Given names, Tyt'o". Her tone was not to admonish, but to remind. He nodded to his mother in respect, but in his copper eyes, his sister noted his silent dissent. Ursa either chose to ignore this, or did not see it from where she sat.

"Draco and Theodore, then." He clarified.

"Could we perchance ride the lower reaches, father?" Hermione queried. Loren shook his head in the negative for his daughter and Hermione slumped in her chair slightly, disappointed. Loren fought a smile on his lips at his daughter's slight petulance at being denied. He knew she felt a pull within her where the very core of her magic emanated from, as all the Gresham's did, to follow the trails into the mountains in pursuit of their Dragons. It was a tug of war he had been playing with her since she was able to safely traverse the steps and walkways through the large House, and down to where the two Dragons would roost.

On more than one occasion, Loren and Ursa had woken to find their children's nursery devoid of one tiny little girl whom they had laid to sleep the night before. The first time it had happened, there was a widespread panic through the entire House, which resulted in a House-wide search which included every staff member and family member. Tyt'o, not knowing where his sister had gone, was bereft at her loss. Wailing and crying in Ursa's arms as she carried him through the keep and through the bailey outside.

It was a horse boy who had brought news of Hermione's whereabouts to her parents, and the relieved Loren and Ursa had fled in urgency to the lower buttresses of their fortress-like home to find that their two Dragons had come down from their mountain nests and taken roost there overnight. Their long bodies barely contained in the alcove entry to the lower catacombs along the side of the stone foundation. The sound of the Dragon pairs joined humming grew louder as they approached. Goldoduur had lifted his great golden head at the coming of his distressed rider, and revealed the form of Loren's young daughter lounged in contentment within his scaled claws.

Goldoduur had chuckled mightily and returned her to the arms of her father with no explanation. Truly there was no safer place than within the lair where the Dragons lay. Imri and Goldoduur had swaddled Hermione with their bodies and warmed their surroundings by stoking their breath without bringing fire. With murmured words of thanks and affection to their Dragons, Hermione had been woken and brought back within the Keep again.

It was often following that first episode that Hermione began tugging her brother Tyt'o along with her when she felt the unnamed urge within her tiny body to seek out the Dragons at night. Any morning that Loren and Ursa could not find their children, they immediately sought the sleeping refuge in which their Dragons had rested, and each morning they were plucked from the warm embrace of the scaled Dragons, the pair would snake their heads low to the ground where their riders reclaimed their children, and would hum deep within their throats to the young Gresham heirs.

The habit had continued well through their childhoods, though as they two advanced in maturity, both Loren and Ursa schooled them further in the lessons of decorum and propriety: Sneaking out of the castle Keep to lay and sleep with Dragons in the bowels of the castle foundation was not something that would be permissible as they grew older. Much to the disgruntlement of their two children.

When the Dragons had begun to prepare for their nesting, they had begun spending more and more time away from the valley where the Gresham House resided peacefully within the Morvan Mountains, as they flew progressively more and more, and hunted with greater veracity than they ever had. It had been many years since there had been a successful hatching, and the first for Goldoduur and Imri as a mated pair, that Loren had secluded himself away for several weeks as he poured over literature to guide him on the habits of a soon-to-mate pair of Dragons. It seemed that even he was without expertise in the matter, to some extent.

Not long following, the Dragons hid themselves away completely to prepare for their eggs. After so many years in close contact with them, The family had felt a profound emptiness where the presence of Dragons should have been.

For the first weeks, Hermione had found herself listless in her lessons, and despondent as she rode her horses. Tyt'o, trying to maintain the picture of stoicism as he approached his ascension into manhood, clothed his features in a mask of impassiveness. Though for all his newfound manliness, he struggled with maintaining his indifference. Behind closed doors guarded, be spelled with silence, he wept each night.

Hermione had joined him with her own sorrows, away from the disapproving opinions of their parents. Their childish rivalries and postulating pushed aside, they would embrace the other as they openly mourned at the loss they felt.

And though Tyt'o and Hermione would never know it, as their own bonds pulled at them desperately, the ones that resided within their mother and father pounded mercilessly within the tenements of Loren and Ursa. For nights that seemed without end, they clung to each other and wept as they grieved the separation from their longtime protectors.

Those months had been dark for the family members of Gresham House, ones that none of them wished to return to.

Loren smiled to his daughter, and shook his head negatively. As the last vestiges of summer approached, and the warmth of summer faded away to yield the harvests as they approached Mabon, the Dragons would become more ruthless and savage to encroachments into the mountains. It was no longer fully safe to travel on horseback past the lower reaches. And though Hermione sought permission for those lower lands, he knew that the call within her would lead her into the paths toward the upper mountains peaks. He would not risk the safety of any of the young ones in agreeing to any adventures such as that.

Hermione sighed, and Tyt'o nudged her encouragingly with a smile. Loren understood her disappointment, but pressed onward. "Perhaps we shall see how our guests fare in a few rounds of friendly dueling." He suggested. Hermione couldn't broker an argument on that one; dueling was an activity she _knew_ she held more privilege in where female offspring were concerned. She gave her father an agreeable expression. "What say you, gentleman? Feel you prepared for a light bit of exertion this morning?"

Theodore beamed without considering a more veiled response. He _loved_ dueling, and he nodded emphatically. From where she sat, Ursa smiled lightly at his enthusiasm. _Like a young boy cutting his teeth over his first sweets._ Draco thought to himself, purposefully holding back his own enthusiasm, giving as little as he needed to away. It had occurred to him, as he had played many of his interactions with the Greshams at later points his mind, that he needed to exert greater control over the omissions of curiosity, and any inklings he had that leaned him in the direction of any _wonderment._

He was not here to wonder. He was here with a purpose. Separated from his lands, his home, his mother, and the life he had so carefully cultivated for himself; this was not a place where he was to make _friends._ His father's harsh frown lingered behind his eyes in his mind; his pale browns furrowed over his light eyes in displeasure and his aristocratic features bent inward in his intensity. Draco tried, for as long as he could remember in his life, to keep that expression from appearing upon his father's face. It filled him with dread. Draco was to _succeed_ in this task, there was no room for failures.

His own mentally punctuated statements had caused his palms beneath the table to grow warm, and moisten somewhat with sweat. He quickly wiped them clean on the legs of his breeches, and decided then that, in amiability, he would continue to ingratiate himself to the Household and the family.

"I find dueling delightful, My Lord." He said, with such cordiality, that even Theodore turned to look at him. The smile he bore did not reach his eyes.

"Then it is settled," Loren stood from the table, and he extended his elbow out as he waited for his wife to lay claim to it with her hand. "My love, mind you to chaperon our children and wards?" Ursa smiled and nodded for her husband.

"Gladly, my Lord." Her eyes darted to their two charges, wishing she could bear additional witness to the silent exchange that was happening at her families table. Hermione and Tyt'o did not seem to have picked up on it, and Loren gave no indication he did either. As they approached the doorway she called back to them. "Prithee write swiftly to your Houses and join us in the bailey?"

Leaving them behind, Hermione trotted out of the hall herself, followed by Tyt'o. His longer legs worked less arduously in traversing the distance, while hers moved swiftly to maintain her pace. She practically skipped as they walked together, and Tyt'o laughed at his slightly-younger sister.

"Calm thyself, little wren." He admonished, and she swatted at his firm upper arm and scoffed.

"Calm, TYSELF, you somber and misfortunate knave!" She shot back and kept up her reverie.

"KNAVE?!" A look of incredulity marring his well-balanced facial features. "Why you miniature tyrant!" He grabbed at her side covered by her heavy woven vest, and she shrieked as she tried to dart away. Her brother held her wrist as they maintained their break-neck pace and she tried to elbow him back.

"Unhand me, you fiend!" she belted out with a laugh, and her brother joined her. The two had completely forgotten themselves in their familiar play, unaware that they had been followed out by their guests. Both Theodore and Draco, for their distance behind, could hear them perfectly.

"Oh, how I do beg my sisters pardon," Tyt'o mocked as he continued on, Hermione shoving him from behind now, trying to distance herself from the fingertips he had kept pinching her sides with. "Though I do believe that you behave in a manner _quite unfitting_ for a lady of the House." Hermione managed to scoff and snort right at the same time.

"You take that nonsense about being a Lady and shove it straight up your proprietary arse, you ludicrous giant!" and she shoved again, with force. Hermione _hated_ it when her brother mocked her unwillingness to act lady-like. She was fully educated with the tutelage afforded for a young woman of a House of good standing. She simply bucked the requirement to behave or dress as one whenever possible.

From behind the already-dueling duo, their guests had paused at the grand stairs to watch them continue their haranguing of the other before they returned to their rooms to produce the requested letters to their family.

Mildly appalled at the lack of manners the two displayed, Draco and Theodore watched as the bodies and voices of the Gresham pair faded further and further away.

"Oaf-"

"Diminutive bully."

"Noxious cox-comb!"

"Only you would turn an insult into advanced vocabulary lesson, oh height-impaired lady-fair!"

"How dare you call me a lady, you smug clown!"

"Oh, so I'm a clown now? Graduated from 'oaf', have I?"

"You are a nincompoop, is what you are."

"I thought that you cared so for my person, dear sister. Your words cut me to the bone. Do you see? I bleed. I bleed all over my finery with your words of admonishment. They are knives that cut me."

"Oh, great Gods above and below, my presence is beset with this bumbling fucking ox."

"Such language! From a lady no less! Whatever would our mother say to your lack of couth, I wonder?!" The tone of mock drama was laid on rather thick, and the corner of Draco's mouth fought against his control to turn up at their corners in hearing Hermione's obvious frustration with having been unable to ruffle her brothers' feathers in their verbal spar as it had devolved into little more than childish name-calling.

Draco and Theodore said nothing as the final noises finally faded, and they looked at each other. "Funny how they speak so brashly when they think they're alone." Theodore commented. Draco huffed theatrically and turned up his nose.

"That is a pair of course and graceless barbarians, by definition." At that statement the blond headed up to his rooms, and as he'd turned away, the smile he'd fought back crept up at the corners of his mouth as Draco replayed the tones of Hermione's voice in his mind.

…..

 _Dear Father,_

Theodore read back the script on the parchment and contemplated his salutation. His dark hair was in his eyes again, and he swept it away with the hand he held his quill in. The ink dripped once on the parchment and Theodore sighed, ripping the blemished section off cleanly. He dipped his quill again and comported himself once more to write to his father. _My Lord Father,_ Theodore wrote out.

He paused again considering that there was a likelihood that the letter would be read before sending, and he sighed. The idea of telling his father about horseback riding lessons seemed so plebian, he wasn't sure it was something he ought to write.

He tried to steel his focus more keenly, and began again. _The Lady Ursa Gresham has bade me write you to inform you of my intact arrival to the House of Gresham._ He sighed and set his chin on his left fist as he continued.

 _Young Malfoy and I have been afforded the comforts and privileges of young lords of House, as is fitting for a guest. We have begun our lessons with the heirs of House Gresham, and are eager to add further knowledge and experiences to our education._

Theodore hesitated over his last sentence. Was it wise to mention the Gresham children to his father? He remembered the conversation he'd had with his father shortly before his departure, where he'd been cautioned to monitor Lady Ursa, and any interest she'd displayed in him. In retrospect, he thought that her interest seemed particularly warm, but casual. As though there weren't any ulterior motive at all, more of a friendly interest. He felt torn as to what he could write and give away versus what he should allude to.

 _I hope this letter finds you in good health and cheer, and I shall write again before Samhain. Your son, Theodore._

Theodore signed his letter and mulled his closure over in his mind. 'Your son', he reminded himself. Not, 'with love', 'affectionately', 'warmly', even, he mused. The dark haired young man felt something in his chest pull towards the base of his throat and his eyes grew damper for a brief moment. He drew in a sharp breath and straightened his back, pushing back the unwelcome emotion that had dared to enter his heart. He considered at least that Draco would have signed the very same lack of sentiment to his own father. Draco offered no evidence, but Theodore assumed that he had been raised the exact same as he had; completely lacking in any real relationship with his father.

But he'd had a mother, at least. Theodore was unashamed in his own mind, playing scenes of Draco as a child being held in warm arms when he woke to nightmares late at night, or fell while climbing and had skinned his knees. His own comforts had been far more limited to the presences of hired help, none of which had been of a heart to show the young Nott heir any sort of affection. The memories left him with an emptiness inside that felt like his stomach was dying. Cramping up, and contracting his throat until he felt like he couldn't breathe until rivulets of water fell from his eyes.

He was losing control. Theodore wiped at his face hurriedly, and scoffed at his foolishness. _Jealous over Draco Malfoy and his gods-damned frail mother. If his father saw him now…_ He grit his teeth and felt a surge of unbridled rage tear through him. Theodore swung his arm over the expanse of writing surface, his paper and ink flying across the room.

His breaths came quickly as he watched the Ink splatters across the wooden floors. "Fuck." He said simply. "FUCK." He looked at the mess he'd wrought in his impertinence, and lack of control on his emotions. His jealousy over something so petty, and stupid. Theodore shook his head at himself.

"Brilliant move, you fool." He admonished himself. He bent to pick up the letter to his father; mostly unstained with the ink he'd flung in his tantrum. It didn't matter the condition of the letter, he imagined. His father didn't care that he was here, that he was away from his own House, in the care of enemies to his father's allegiances. Thoros Nott had sent him here because he was a tool. A means for power, and nothing more.

It filled him with more than rage. It filled him with something that _burned_ him from within. Something with no name, and no description, but he could feel it roil within him.

He rolled up the paper, and composed his person as best he could before he left his bedroom. He took deep breaths to stabilize himself as he stepped out into the passageway where Draco sat, blond hair falling over his own eyes, and letter in his pale fingers. He settled his face into an impassive mask to address his companion as they left to find the Greshams once again.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: pgoodrichboggs & guest: Thank you BOTH for your reviews! Your feedback is very kind and helpful. **

**Guest, since you weren't logged in, I couldn't reply to you directly: I'm very happy you found that portion precious. It is certainly a very special relationship and I look forward to working with it further throughout this story.**

 **All I think about night and day is trying to work on this story. I have been dreaming about putting 'pen-to-paper' on it for so long, and so many things get in the way right now. But I digress… I hope this chapter makes some of the wait WORTH it!**

 **Disclaimer: Anything you recognize for HP verse, belongs to JKR. I'm utilizing it for my own amusement. Some elements/concepts are, in fact, my own!**

 **Chapter 10**

Mid-morning arrived unmarked and barely recognized in the hustle to get to the Grand Stables. Tyt'o and Hermione had colluded together to visit as they waited for their peers to draft their letters homeward. The two walked through the immense carved wooden doors that were set with iron supports and massive iron bolts to hold it together. Tyt'o swung a door wide for his sister and she chuckled out her reluctant thanks as she rolled her eyes. The last year, especially, her brother had paid attention to gentlemanly behaviors, whereas Hermione continued on as she always had; refusing to wear layered skirts and gown, or putting her hair into any discernable shape resembling that of a young woman.

Inside the wooden shutters had been lifted to allow natural light inside, and the rays of sunshine cast warmth upon everything it touched. Stable hands were busy combing tethered horses in the common area outside the stalls as the well-cared for horses lazily picked at buckets of grain and sweet alfalfa. At their arrival, a few of them pricked up their ears and observed momentarily before returning to their pampering.

Each stable hand, in turn, bowed dutifully to the Gresham heirs as they passed. Hermione would pass her hand over haunch or click her tongue in greeting to the animals, and smile unreservedly to the grooming stable boys, causing a few of them to fleet their eyes to her with a blush as she bid them good morning and thanked them for their expert care.

The Gresham House was known within the Guild for their generations-long relationship with the Dragons as their riders, but also as a family with a love of creatures great and small. The horses within the Grand Stable were a testament to that as it was were the prime specimens of their herds resided. Aethonan and Abraxan winged horses lived here as well as rare Fresian beauties and a set of rare Kelpie half-breeds that Loren's grandfather had begun developing as a young man. Each animal was shown loving care, and Loren had decreed that for each breeding pair of animals there was to be but one groom who was overseen by the Horse master, who then reported to Loren directly.

Neither Tyt'o nor Hermione were so arrogant as to assume they were more skilled care better than any of the young men employed within the grand structure. Each man within the stable was familiar with his charges, and the animals attuned to their handler. Loren Gresham required such commitment, in fact, that the upper level of the stable contained clean and separate living quarters for each of the twelve stable grooms that saw to a pair of breeding horses directly. It was a conservative space, given, but it was clean, free of common pests, and solely belonging to the stable grooms, and each of them lived there with pride. Such was evident in the state of each horse individually; their manes and tails were impeccably clean and knot-free, their hoofs oiled and trimmed expertly, and each coat gleamed to perfection in the morning sun.

Hermione fidgeted as they strode through the stable listening to the nickering contentment of their animals. Tyt'o gave her a sidelong glance. "Calm yourself: Our teacher will be ready for us soon enough."

"I hate this waiting." Tyt'o knew she was talking about more than the matter of their late-sleeping tutor.

"I know, little sister." He studied her face from the side as he calculated the tiny changes in her demeanor through her answers. "How felt you in sharing secrets of our House to our new Housemates?" Hermione's copper colored eyes darted to him.

"When we brought them to the Dragon tears?" He nodded, and Hermione looked away from him as heat appeared in her cheeks. How brazen she had been to allow her eyes to linger as she had lifted her water-filled palms to the lips of her new peer, and have his gray eyes drink from hers the same way his lips had from her fingertips. "It is good that we teach them lore about the family, and the Dragons, is it not?"

Tyt'o smirked toward his sister, though she did not see him. He could read her better than any, and he saw how she scrunched up her face. It couldn't be helped, he supposed. Like it or not, his little sister was well on the path to becoming a woman. Whatever that meant for the rough-and-tumble girl beside him, who, in truth, was a girl no longer. Despite how she tried to shirk any airs of femininity that might be thrust upon her.

Hermione had grown true and sure; she carried herself with excellent posture, and walked with purpose, if it lacked an alluring sway. She was strong and capable, and the soft edges of baby fat had begun to recede back just as his own had to give way to a picture of a young woman with sharp brows, definition to her cheeks, and a smile that came upon you without warning and lit up every recess around it with brilliance. Every smile she deigned to grant touched every part of her face; it was honest and open and completely unprotected.

Tyt'o sighed as he saw her in this moment, almost for the first time, as she had become. Were it not for the rigors of training and preparing the Dragons to clutch he was certain that his mother would be combing and oiling her hair, and having beautiful gold and green dresses to adorn her daughter in. How she would be instructing her with wisdom in how to run one's Household, balance accounts, and maintain inventories and track breeding lines in all their prized bloodlines. Hermione was unaware of the massive level of work and commitment that it took their parents to run such a vast estate; when it had become apparent that their Dragons were going to clutch, all other imperatives aside from their training had simply fallen to the wayside to make way for their new efforts.

Hermione was beside herself at the possibility to have teachers arrive from abroad to bring yet-unlearned spells and teachings of the olde magics to them. Her hunger for knowledge was greater than that of their own mother, it seemed, for Hermione could bury herself in books without care so long as she was sustained with food, water, and the means to sneak outside of the Keep to find the nest where the Dragons would wait for her.

"Recall you the first time you pulled me out of bed to drag me to the Dragon nest, little sister?" He teased her, and she chuckled, stowing away her internal musings.

"Aye! How you fought me brother! 'No wren, no!'" she mocked, emulating her brothers little voice as a child. "No takees from bed! Momma says no!'" Tyt'o laughed with her a little. "I remember how you rubbed your eyes and cried, but you let me pull you all the way down through the passages and outside. You protested until you could hear the humming, didn't you?"

"Aye."

"When could you hear it?" She asked.

"Only in the lower cellars, just before the final descent." He confessed. "Where could you hear it?"

She pursed her lips briefly before answering. "From the nursery." Tyt'o's look turned incredulous.

"Truly?" And she nodded at that.

"It would start soft as we lay down, and grow louder until I couldn't hear anything else." She told him, and looked towards the mountains. "When we would lay with them, the hum was all around us, just as they were."

"Could you feel it in your bones, too?"

She shook her head. "Aye. It was part of us." She sighed. "I miss them so much Tyt'o."

Seeing her heart yearn as it did, Tyt'o touched her shoulder gently. "It won't be much waiting yet sister. We will be with them soon."

….

The warm smile of Ursa Gresham was something of great beauty, the Warlock Sirius Black had concluded. The edges of her perfect dusky pink mouth curved up without pretense, and her aristocratic teeth gleamed, straight and perfect from within. It was an expression of gladness, and appreciation to be sure. It didn't help that the wearer of that smile was also the possessor of one of the sharpest minds he had ever met, nor that every aspect of her person was the utter definition of perfection as well.

He had come to see clearly how he digressed every time he returned to Gresham House, only later to chide and chastise himself of his own secret impropriety. His last stay had been but a year prior, but nothing about her had changed. She smiled as he approached her, surely unknowing that behind his gray eyes there lay covetous machinations that brewed.

"'Tis good to see you once again, Sir Black." as he took her outstretched hand and pressed it to his lips, perhaps for a fraction of a second longer than he ought to. Sirius Black was not above taking advantage of the fact that Loren Gresham was not in their presence, and he could afford the unspoken flirtation. Ursa indulged him the moment, but retrieved her hand to her side while continuing to smile.

"As it is to see you again, my Lady," he returned her smile with one of his own, and fell into step beside her as they strode to the Gresham's Great Hall. "though I had not expected the request to return, I am still glad to have returned."

Ursa nodded to him, clasping her hands together beneath her long sleeves. "My Lord and I once again seek your expertise to further tutor our future riders." Sirius frowned.

"Yet when I bade your family farewell after year last, we had tested Tyt'o and Hermione quite extensively, and they produced such fine results. Why bid me return to further instruct; the missive from your Lord gave no detail." Ursa bit down on her impulse to blab out the facts, realizing that the change in plan had not yet been exposed to any other House within The Guild at this juncture, and least of all to the great tutors and instructors to the Houses themselves. Their opinions had not yet been weighed, nor had any meeting of the Lords of Houses been called to conclave upon the change of events.

It was a delicate situation indeed that Lord and Lady Gresham found themselves in. Covenants and Contracts were at stake, and ties between Houses were going to suffer because of it, she was certain.

"I know my Lord has not confessed all to you, Sir Black." she started, and he fought desperately in his mind to beg her to call him by his first name alone. Though his stays were only months in duration, he had returned many times to continue the tutelage of her children as he had traversed between Houses and other pupils. In that time he had come to anticipate his returns to the earthy and warm walls inside the Gresham home as each time he returned to her. She continued unknowing the struggle within him, behind the mask of calmness that he fought with as he listened to her.

"And you have sacrificed lessons with other students to return here in an hour of our great need -for which we cannot express thanks enough-" she added hastily. "But that our carefully constructed plans of taking in children from other Houses within the Guild has had necessity to change." Ursa hesitated, trying to articulate around explaining the blackmail that had befallen their family at the hands of the snake, Lucius Malfoy.

"It has fallen to us at this late hour to bring two new students to our House, and moreover to ensure they be acceptable to join my own to pilgrimage into the mountains when the Dragons call for them."

"What mean you by this, my Lady?" Queried Sirius, and Ursa Gresham turned and looked him straight in the eye.

"I mean, Sir, that we can ill afford these two students to be rejected by the Dragon Sires once they reach their nest," Her bronze eyes searched him desperately and she lowered her voice to a whisper as they had stopped walking just outside the doors to their Great Hall. "The consequences of their rejection will be dire, indeed, Sir Black," Her eyes began to plead silently into his pouring all of her worries through their bronze depths beneath her dark silky lashes. Sirius was fixed in place, unable to move. "If not deadly. I fear-" she cut herself off, and took a breath to steel herself.

"What is it you fear, my Lady?" Sirius reached for her hands as they remained clasping each other desperately as her widened eyes danced with wildness, touching them to ground her with reassurance.

"Our Dragons are so precious to us, but not so mighty are they that they cannot be corrupted!" Her harsh whisper was silenced by the noises of footfall within the Great Hall as an attended pushed open the doors further, and Sirius immediately removed his hands from Ursa and stepped away from her, realizing what position he would have put her in should the attendant have seen them so close together.

Loren Gresham loved and trusted his wife, but no husband of any prize as great as she would be so foolish to allow such a trespass to go unaddressed. Sirius bowed himself to Ursa. "My deepest apologies at my misstep, My Lady," he straightened again and motioned her forward politely. In truth, Ursa had forgotten herself as she she spilled her family's secrets to her children's tutor so openly, and foolishly. While she tried at so many turns to adopt the tactile and clandestine ways of her husband, she often found herself at war with her greater impulses.

"Sir Black!" The exclamation was made a fraction of a second before the force of a person exploded upon him without preamble. Sirius stumbled as a pair of warm arms wrapped around his waist accompanied with gleeful exaltation. He looked down at his chest at a head of brown curls, and beside him Ursa Gresham chuckled only momentarily before righting her strangled laugh into a reproving mannerism.

"Daughter, you are too old to be bounding about the castle in such a manner. Where be you manners?" It was spoken gently, but the words caused Hermione to stiffen at the disciplining statement.

Hermione's copper eyes appeared from beneath the darkness of her hair as she smiled up at Sirius. He found, suddenly, that he stared too unbidden at them, with their frames of dark, thick lashes, and her smile which stretched for miles. He found his arms around the girl as easily as she had hers around him. "But we've missed you so much here!" Hermione declared exuberantly to first Sirius, and then her mother.

Ursa shook her head, and gently pried her daughter from her instructor, sliding her hand to her daughters. "Aye, that we have, my sweet." Ursa agreed, though the motion did nothing to take Hermione's eyes off of Sirius. From behind her, waiting, Draco had caught the scene just as Hermione had grasp him enthusiastically.

That smile of hers felt like a summer morning. It shone just like sunshine and the way the gray eyes of the Warlock lingered just a moment on her face made something in Draco twist furiously. It was something he had no right to feel, either. He tucked it away for later thought and tried to deepen his breath for a moment.

The dramatic greeting with his pupil was so sudden that Sirius hadn't had time to truly take in whom he was looking upon. As Hermione was pulled away, took in the sight before him and found that he couldn't reconcile the two: The dancing of those warm eyes caught him in such a way that it occurred to him his student was, in fact, no longer a child.

She'd added some height, to be certain. Her eyes were still the same, but the way the curves of her face had defined and the shape of her body clearly spoke to the notion that she had shed her girlhood did not escape him.

Ursa sighed and held her daughter, watching her youngest's beatific smile adoringly at the man whom she was certain Hermione doted upon with innocent adoration, though it was true that it had been a full turn of seasons since the Warlock had resided as tutor for the Greshams, and in that time Ursa had seen many changes in her daughter that she wasn't sure Hermione was even aware of. Ursa felt a little sink in her heart as she realized that jubilant innocence was no longer an excuse for Hermione to claim, and that it was indeed time to reign her in for the greater sense of propriety. Hermione was going to loathe it.

Despite her mother's firm grip, Hermione dove straight in with questions for Sirius, practically tugging at her mother's hand as she did. She was so excited for news from outside their family lands, and to know more about his travels in the year he had been away.

Sirius couldn't help but laugh at her overflowing excitement, and answered her as she pelted him with them over and over. The three young men watched on as the minutes passed feeling quite excluded and unnecessary as Hermione left no room for interloping commentary, and as their conversation turned to the debate upon the merits of the use of alchemy in pursuit of treatment for maladies to magical livestock, it was Ursa who gently touched the two conversants to bring them back from their soaring heights to the ground below.

The two settled at her touch, and Ursa motioned with an arc of her graceful arm to the waiting trio of young men attending them in the Great Hall. "Warlock Black, I wish to introduce our two charges and Guild acolytes, young Theodore Nott, and young Draco Malfoy." Sirius was caught completely off-guard. Nott and Malfoy? Sons of The Unified? He thought as incredulity and shock worked their way onto his face.

The two bowed dutifully to Sirius, but kept their eyes trained firmly to him as they did. Sirius nodded to each of them warily. Both Draco and Theodore knew who Sirius Black was already; the Black family was well known to the Houses of the Unified. Even their sons and daughters.

Their lack of reverence was clear on their faces, and Sirius felt his hackles rise. "Lady Gresham, might I have words with you in private?" he ground out? Ursa nodded and parted from her daughter, bidding them all to remain within, and followed him out into the hall.

Sirius was furious. "What is the meaning of this, Lady?"

"Sir Black, I-" Ursa stammered out, looking to the floor unexpectedly. She _knew_ Loren couldn't have told Sirius whom would be here for the training, in the event that the missive was intercepted. She knew it was going to be a shock for Sirius to come here, to teach the children of _those_ two Houses. After what his own House had suffered… It was a fairly brazen request. Ursa swallowed deeply and continued, rubbing the palms of her hands together methodically as she spoke. "Please accept my apologies." She started, her voice smaller than it once was, less brave. "My Lord husband was not able to extend an explanation of the circumstances to you when he beseeched you to return-"

"Teaching the spawn of those treacherous monsters? Men sworn to the United?!" Sirius hissed out at her, and Ursa winced slightly, afraid to meet his storming gaze suddenly. It was so unlike her character. Sirius ignored her and pressed on. "My Lady, you Lordship is wrong indeed to think I would return here to entertain the likes of these two budding bastards, let alone share the same secrets bestowed to me as a Master Warlock!" He spat the last words at her, looming further in his growing rage forcing Ursa to lean away from him.

"I, I-" She stammered, unsure as to what she could say, what she should say. She knew in her very bones that what Loren had done was to lure the great teachers who were willing to return to their House under the guise of strengthening their own children's skills. While part of that was true, it was a pretense nonetheless.

"Does the cat hold your tongue, My Lady?" Sirius sneered and raised his finger in warning. "Mark my words, I will _die_ before I support _any_ member of the Houses of the United!" He finished and made to sweep away from Ursa, and she shot her hand out to grab his.

"Please, Sirius!" She cried, and Sirius turned to look at her, shocked back to her by the use of his first name. His gray eyes met hers to see tears bubbling forth in her eyes, spilling over to hear lovely soft cheeks. "Please…." She begged, and he stilled a moment to hear her words.

She held his hand in her own with veracity, her tears making their way to her jawline and down her lovely neckline. "Please, Sir Black. I…. I beg of you. Do not leave us. It was so wrong for my Lord to lure you back here under such a farce, I know this so well." She shook her head and the frown she wore deepened. "Lord Malfoy has our family in his debt, and this is the price he asks." She quivered out. More tears made their way from her eyes and Sirius felt himself soften. He sighed.

"I beg of you, do not leave us. I know that House Black was never joined to The Guild, and what is happening now might lead to the end of the line of Gresham," he startled at her words as she paused. "But as a mother I beg you, do not let them have reason to call upon this debt. It will be the end of us."

Her pleas were genuine, Sirius had no doubt of that. Though it was still the case that he had been brought to their House under a false artifice he could see that the reasons rocked Ursa Gresham to her very core. Her allusions to the reasons behind it were not explained further, and he did not pry. He simply covered her desperate hands with his remaining free palm and sighed.

"My Lady, my knowledge and mastery as a Great Warlock are at your disposal. But my eyes are upon these two. I will train them in the time we have remaining, but know that I will not favor them."

Ursa shook her head. "Nor should you, Sir." And then she smiled. Sirius felt his heart warm again as he looked at her, and she at him. Her smile carrying her gratitude to him, and it filled his heart again with a bliss he had seldom known in his life.

From far above on a balcony shielded, Loren Gresham backed away from the railing at the sight of his wife standing so close, _so intimately,_ with the Master Warlock Sirius Black, and returned to his study.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Shout out to pgoodrichboggs & Govek26 for your reviews! I sincerely appreciate you taking time to review! **

**Since everyone waited so long between chaps 9 & 10, I worked EXTRA hard on pumping this one out for you. Hope everyone has fun reading it! **

**Chapter 11**

When Ursa returned to the Great Hall, it was following Sirius Black, and far enough away that their recent closeness still clung to her fingertips. How strange it was in her moment of panic that he had listened to her without interruption, and heeded her words.

Her fingers still felt warm, and tingled slightly as she rubbed them together beneath the long sleeves of her gown. She closed her eyes for longer than a mere pause and reminded herself of her place; as the Lady of the House, and the Wife of her Lord. She banished everything else lingering there within the dark corners of her mind and focused.

Ever-perceptive, Tyt'o Gresham saw his mother's face as she returned to the Hall. Though the four students had heard nothing specific, it was clear that voices had been raised as though an argument had transpired. Her expression of worry only confirmed it for him. "Mother, is everything well?" Tyt'o inquired, and he held his elbow to her, offering her a connection. She smiled to him.

"Yes, my son. All is well." She looped her arm through his and rested her free palm to his as well to cement her words, but Tyt'o knew better. Her bronze eyes shone with tears shed, and her dark lashes were dewed together below her lower lid, the wet of tears still lingering there like morning dew. She'd taken care to wipe them away, but this young man knew better.

Hermione, oblivious as ever in the face of a lesson in magic, swept through and pulled them together. "Excellent!" She exclaimed, "Then we can proceed onward with our instruction for the day." Ursa and Tyt'o shared a smile as the youngest Gresham heir pulled them along like a weaning foal dragging at a bridle and lead.

Throughout the exchange, Draco and Theodore had neither spoken, nor been spoken to, but remained as statuaries in witness to the exchanges. Though he had written a letter already, Draco mentally wondered if he should pen an additional missive of some fashion to his father about the arrival of one Sirius Black, in specific.

In one of his many private lessons concerning the great Houses, Lucius had told him of the fall of the House Black. Traitors and cowards, he had called them. A blight to the Houses of Lords that were cast from The United and had fallen into discredit and ruin. Their House had bred insanity and instability, so it was a wonder here that the apparent scion of the House stood before him as a Master Warlock.

Draco's gray eyes darted over to Theodore, who had himself trained on Sirius with a look of unchecked contempt. Surprised, Draco bumped his shoulder into Theodore lest the other attendants of the Hall should take note. Theodore looked to Draco, and was met with the slight raising of one haughty pale brow.

Theodore shook his head just enough that Draco dropped his inquisitive expression; now was neither the time nor the place to exchange observations or information. Sirius' voice interrupted their silent repartee as he began explaining the stance that Tyt'o and Hermione were to take to practice defensives; he wasn't yet certain of the skill level of the young men attending and regarded them a moment with a glance and a scowl as he positioned Hermione and Tyt'o.

The siblings were well familiar with each other, and the spells they would choose, so it was no true challenge for either, Sirius had to admit to himself. But it was the safe option, certainly. He questioned immediately if it were wise to pair them with either young men which would undoubtedly give them the challenge they needed, but would it put them at any risk? He hadn't assessed what magics his two new pupils knew, nor how ruthless they would be in dueling the Gresham siblings.

He decided to play safe. Subterfuge was never his strong point, but he had to try to conceal as much as possible from these two, if only to determine their merit, and their mettle.

Tyt'o and Hermione stood poise, hands raised and palms facing the other at a distance of 10 paces. Their twin colored eyes focused intently upon the other as they waited for Sirius's signal to begin.

"Incipere."

Quickly, Hermione pulled her magic around her like a cloak to ensure that anything thrown at her would be glanced off. Her concentration evident on her brow, but she maintained her breath evenly and threw her spell to curve around Tyt'o like a boomerang at the back of his knees. Tyt'o pirouetted on one foot as her magic missed him and dissolved as it missed its mark, and Hermione fought the urge to throw a vulgar gesture at him. He only smirked and returned to his stance.

His sister had a brash style at times, not subtle in the slightest. It was her greatest strength as well as her weakness, and Tyt'o knew he could exploit that every time. He advanced slightly with the force of his will to toy with her a little, to bring her hackles up and tease her out, and Hermione felt his magic prickling at her shield, searching for a way in, a weak fold. She held strong, willing her shield more and more, focusing it around her as he continued to ply at her again and again without pattern.

At the first sign of relent, Hermione whipped her palm underhand in an arc with a direct hit aimed with a serious intent, but her concentration left her shield for just long enough for Tyt'o's barrage to find its target and he took it. From an angle his spell hit her from behind and struck her in the back, bringing her to one knee as she gasped in surprise and caught herself with her left hand. It had thrown her aim off and her own spell missed her brother.

He had baited her perfectly! _Damn him._ Hermione's expression seethed annoyance, and she refocused herself in her new position as Tyt'o struck her again and again in an onslaught of spells as he used her weakened position against her. The force of his barrage was truly powerful, and it was all Hermione could do to hold her shield around her, both hands upward to the sky as though she was shielding against the rain. Her brother had her pinned, and she could ill afford to flee, and she felt a well of panic realizing that he was going to win. She'd arrogantly let him win with her own pride in her skill.

Hermione took in a slow breath as the weight of the volley continued around her, and her brother stepped forward to advance his position further in closing his distance to concentrate his spells. She couldn't move, and she couldn't parry him like this.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and murmured her spell as much as she used her mind to form it; " _appellem terra"_ she called, and felt her focus shift as she pushed her brother out from around her. She put everything into it in one last bid to drive him back and felt the force of her magic begin to lean his away. From her crouch she focused on him again, on his eyes that were the exact copy of her own and she heaved with every fiber in her body. Tyt'o stumbled backward, and in the millisecond of pause as he switched his offensive she pushed again, and he toppled over on his backside, panting.

Hermione's breath matched her brothers exactly. The exertion had been a strain to both of them as they had pitted their wills against each other, though neither was willing to do more than simply topple the other. Sirius considered the display carefully as Tyt'o brushed himself off, and offered a hand to his sister as she rose from her kneeling position and they clasp hands; the brother and sister had no true motives to push themselves as they needed to in order to refine their skills. There was no true element of surprise, no danger. Not really, anyway.

It was time to start pushing them.

"Well done to both of you." Sirius commended, and Hermione beamed back at him, glowing at the praise. Tyt'o offered a smile as well to his tutor, though felt the sting of having lost a match to his younger sister. He knew the moment he'd paused that he'd made a critical error, and under normal circumstances he wouldn't have felt such an annoyance over it. But in the presence of Draco and Theodore as he and his sister bared their magical skills, something a little more primal crept into his mind and simmered there territorially. The sudden urge to win, and win without simply besting her felt all too real to him at that moment.

Aside from the group, Ursa had taken a seat at the edge of the hall to watch and witness the four students in their displays and practices. She carefully watched the faces of her children, but also the postulation of both Draco and Theodore as they'd watched her children in their tug-of-war. With a wave of her hand and a silent request, she sent a zing of magic through the air, bidding an attendant to her to request something warm to drink as she continued on in her scrutiny.

From her vantage point, Sirius was pointing out several weaknesses Hermione had displayed, as well as Tyt'o, and provided each a correction to improve their techniques both in the defensive and offensive capacities. She watched proudly as both her children listened carefully as they received their criticism, though Hermione held one arm around her waist, and tucked her opposite elbow into her stomach as she chewed on the end of her finger. Ursa twisted her mouth in reprove as though it would carry over the air to her daughter.

An attendant arrived to her and she bade them bring her something warm and relaxing with a smile of thanks, and she returned to her observations.

Once complete with both his praise of their performance, but also his observation of their weakness and subsequent corrections to their techniques, Sirius waved Draco and Theodore over to him. "Malfoy-" he started, and Draco quirked an eyebrow at the show of distain the Warlock showed. "and Hermione-" there is was again, _the arrogant bastard._ He menaced mentally. "I want you two to take position. Simple structure; no drawing blood, nothing to cause any serious harm." He nodded them away. "Nott, and Tyt'o, you follow the same." And he nodded them off as well.

AS the group of them dispersed, and Theodore moved to face Tyt'o at the requisite 10 paces, he positively fumed at the Warlocks use of his last name, as though he was too disgusted to address him as the son of a great House. Black's contempt and intent was being made very clear.

He raised his palms in the customary manner, as did Tyt'o opposite him, with Hermione and Draco following suit.

Sirius paused to ensure all parties focused before he imparted "Incipere."

Immediately on the offensives, both Greshams found themselves tensing as they individually realized they were dueling an unknown skill. Hermione fought the nervousness within her, and the flickers of fear which clouded her mind. _Be still, breathe._ She reminded herself and brought her magic around her again, swirling it about her person closely. From across her, Draco watched as her fiery eyes were trained on his own, waiting.

He'd watched her carefully as she had stood opposite to her brother. She was cheeky, but very focused. Tyt'o had managed to outwit her, but she had muscled him out unexpectedly in the end. He was unsure of how his power would collide with hers, and decided then not to risk a battle of sheer endowment. No, he would wait her out. Bait her, and strike.

It felt like minutes had passed as they silently watched the other, and Hermione struggled to keep her focus on his whole person, and not to stray her eyes and concentration. Draco's pale hair had fallen over his forehead, and in contrast with his alabaster skin and gray eyes it left quite a striking sight before her. His lips curled achingly slowly into a faint smirk and his eyes hooded just slightly.

Hermione stared longer and realized she was entirely too focused on his face, and less so on her awareness around her, and then she felt it. The force had accumulated around her quietly, settling at the borders of where her magic reached out and sucked inward. It was all she could do to spread her arms and hold it away as she noted carefully his sleight of hand.

Facing off to the side, Tyt'o pushed forward in an aggressive display that was wholly uncharacteristic of his normal style. He'd elected for subtlety before with his sister, but that primal urge that had appeared in his mind had begun pushing out into his mind. _More, more, MORE._ It intoned in him, and he pressed across the divide at Theodore.

Theodores dark hair brushed backward as he held out as long as he could, murmuring an incantation as he felt sweat beading above his brows. He felt his feet slide backward along the floor as the sheer force of Tyt'o offensive physically moved him backward. Theodore attempted to sink his body and magic into the floor surrounding him, but Tyt'o was unrelenting. His fair tawny hair fell in pieces, framing his face as the movement of his magic make the air swirl around him. Determination and focus were all he could see, and Theodore reached further within to reach out and confound his opponent.

It was then that Tyt'o saw it, he saw Theodore as he attempted to grasp at anything possible to throw at Tyt'o to pause him for long enough to create his own offensive spell work. Never breaking the force as he pushed further, Tyt'o called from deep within his core in a whirl of energy and he focused it at Theodore as he heaved it toward his opponent.

The brunt of the magic caught Theodore head-on, and sent him flying backward along the stone flor. From the distance Ursa sat at, she stood without meaning to as she watched the culmination of the duel before her.

Undisturbed from their battle of wills, Hermione forced her arms up and around her body as she fought off Draco's surrounding magic. Like a flock of birds it coursed around her, just out of reach from the barrier she had created around her, pecking at her in random places, testing her boundaries. She held herself steady, trying to outlast him as he pursued her and tightened the circle around her slowly, trying to force her inward to a retreat.

Through her protection, she sent out electrifying forces in dagger-like shapes to tear at the perpetually circling magical display that threatened to clench around her like the body of a great serpent, and they hit their mark accordingly, and further carried back along the currents of his magic like a salmon swimming upstream to land a direct hit.

Draco staggered a moment, not even realizing what she had done. As he had, Hermione prepared to create her own opposition when Sirius raised his hands to the remaining participants. "Enough now, both of you rest." The pair pulled back and straightened, each feeling a little bit of chastisement from their tutor.

Under normal circumstances Hermione would have felt the thrill of another duel; she loved the excitement and the anticipation. But in this case she felt herself unnerved and exposed. Draco's spell as it had squeezed in around her had been frightening. She looked back at Draco as he straightened himself, righting his doublet and vest over his breeches. The little smirk that had painted his face in the beginning of their duel was long-gone, replaced instead with what she thought looked to be a thoughtful expression.

For his part, Draco was intrigued at the brief tête-à-tête he'd shared with Hermione as he'd cast his spell not only to surround her, but to start probing her magic a better feel for it. In those brief moments he'd felt something a little familiar, like he'd been touched by her spellcasting before. He was certain that this was impossible, seeing as how they'd never used their magics in the presences of the other to this point. Her eyes had met his and held them briefly, and though they were both matched well in this bout, a pleasant shiver washed over his skin as the remainder of her magic had retreated. He turned one end of his lips up so slightly he doubted she'd notice.

It didn't escape Hermione, and she looked away with a scowl. She found herself immediately at odds.

Sirius dutifully reached his hand to Theodore, who was starting daggers at the man leaning over him. Sirius rolled his eyes. "Stow your annoyance, boy. You'll have another chance yet." Theodore brushed off his backside, glowering, as Sirius continued. "Do you know where you failed?" Theodore nodded, and Sirius pressed forward, gesturing between both Tyt'o and Theodore.

Tyt'o stood proudly as he watched his opponent in counsel with Sirius. The raw virility that coursed through him was a new sensation, and he rode the high proudly; his head held high, and his arms crossed in a prideful stance.

Ursa watched her firstborn and felt conflicted within herself. Her son stood dauntless and proud still opposite his rival allowing the miasma of his magic to flavor the air with masculinity. Ursa scoffed at what she felt and scented in the air: It was the same thing Loren's Dragon had begun performing when his mate had begun her estrus. And here her son stood, strutting his triumph like a rutting bull Dragon over a female. Ursa blinked slowly and wrapped her hands more closely around the earthen chalice filled with herbed tea she had been brought. The warmth kept her delicate fingers warm in the cool Hall. Though the hearth crackled with a warm fire, the stone and wood did not hold heat as well. This was a place where warmth was brought by the bodies that reveled in it. As she sipped quietly watching all four participants, she focused on Theodore. Dutiful, quiet, kind Theodore.

The matriarch of the House felt a pang in her heart as she watched Sirius chide him deeply, marking specific points in his match with her son where he had failed. How the suggestions of the failure progressively marked upon his face, setting his expression of concern deeper the longer Sirius went on.

It occurred to her just then that the possibility of failure might not have been something Theodore was raised to cope with. Not at all. As she watched him further, she noted that his posture had moved from one of upset and angry, to one that was shameful and almost fearful.

She knew those reactions, and knew them well. The schooling Theodore had received had been accompanied with some form of punishment when he failed to excel, that much became clear. But something else pulled at her as she watched Sirius turn away from him in frustration as he instructed Draco and Tyt'o to pair up together, unwilling to pit Theodore with her daughter after his defeat.

Though Ursa liked Sirius Black on the whole; he was a persistent and inventive instructor, she felt bathed with indignation at the abject humiliation of Theodore's loss in the duel. What was the point instruction if not to fortify a pupil with knowledge, experience, and support? Theodore had slumped as he watched his fellow outsider pair up with the now-priggish Tyt'o as they took their stances and prepared their face off.

Ursa was growing more furious by the second as she watched the display before her. She had little doubt that Tyt'o spectacular win would embolden him to reach for new heights and another success; truthfully this turn of events had resulted in the introduction of some real competition for him in his life, the likes of which they really had lacked. Facing off in to practice your spell work was one thing, but to have a limited supply of opponents really never challenged a person regardless.

As the two set their casts and launched into dually-chosen offensives, causing not only Sirius but Hermione and Theodore to take a little leap backward and away from the raw display before the two, Ursa formulated a notion of herself spiriting Theodore away to one of the smaller halls when she next had the chance.

As Ursa laid her private plans far away from the group, continuing in her silent observation, Draco was locked in a battle of wills with Tyt'o as the one pushed with a spell, while the other blocked and retaliated. Back and forth they danced like this over and over, pushing and pulling at the other, stumbling and sliding as the trio closest watched pensively.

Hermione chewed at the end of her thumb; her nervous habit floating to the surface as she studied each parry, each block and assault laid toward her brother. In his periphery it hadn't escaped Draco that Hermione was watching him intently. Her eyes boring into him tempted him to break his concentration and steal a glimpse of her lightly sun-sprinkled face, and her lovely eyes.

The reality of what he'd just mused really hit him, leaving him open long enough that an offensive Tyt'o had flung at him caught him hard, causing Hermione to gasp a little at the sheer ferocity of it. Draco startled further at the sudden sound of her voice, glancing slightly at Hermione only to find those eyes of hers looking _decidedly_ not at him, but at her brother.

With a spell that classed well above where Sirius had instructed them to practice with, Tyt'o had sent an arc of magic that crackled and burned at Draco, and as he'd relinquished his concentration it had nearly found its mark, but shot past him only just, in a blaze of magic hot enough to cause flesh to sizzle.

Seeing the sudden escalation of the situation, Sirius Black raised his arms to either side at the opposing duelers. "Enough, enough!" he called, and while Draco stopped dutifully, lowering his hands and pulling his magic back to himself, Hermione watched in abject dismay as Tyt'o not only hesitated, but he cast one last time. Without hesitation, Hermione swung her right arm out in an arc throwing her magic between the two, as a lingering bit of spell shot straight towards Draco in a barrier between the two.

The result was the magic ricocheting back to Tyt'o which flung him off his feet and flat onto his back, with a loud exclamation. Sirius watched in alarm at the sight before him: Tyt'o, son of the House, had fired a cheap shot, and Sirius was _furious._ But furthermore, his own _sister_ had stepped in to defend the young man he dueled.

Sirius was shaking he was so angry. "The rules of instruction are clear, Young Master Gresham," he started, lowering his hands and turning toward Tyt'o. "So what in Hell do you think you're doing?"

Tyt'o felt a hot flame over his face as he flushed, powered with the flow of magic and the heat of the clash which had only just receded. Both Theodore and Hermione stood by, struck that Tyt'o had so blatantly and aggressively broken the rules. Even from across the Hall, Ursa sat by and watched in horror as her son swept himself up wearing not only a scowl, but daring to throw contempt back at Sirius. She was mortified at the scene in front of her.

Tyt'o raised himself from the floor, never having taken his eyes from Draco. He wasn't even listening to his teacher, he was incensed and ready for another round.

Sirius came at him purposefully, grabbing his shoulder with a jerk. "Are you listening to me, Tyt'o?!" Sirius was nearly eye-to-eye with him, his storming gray eyes and fierce expression conveying his fury plainly and Tyt'o broke his glare at Draco.

"Yes, Master Black." Tyt'o conceded, and Sirius lessened his grip a bit, seeing his pupil return a little to himself.

"What in blazes do you think you were doing, Tyt'o?" He repeated fiercely. Tyt'o just shook his head and looked at his sister. Hermione stood in complete shock. She hadn't even _considered_ what she was going; she'd just acted. Tyt'o had gone too far, and Draco would have been harmed.

The newness to their House as wards aside, the House of Gresham was not one to engage in treachery, and these two young men were still the guests of their father, and their care was still the responsibility of ALL of the House. Circumstances be damned, as far as Hermione was concerned. She wore a positively disgusted expression directed at her brother, and it caused him to flinch.

Draco looked on at the power struggle between student and Master, but inside all he could think was ' _she defended me._ _ **She**_ _defended_ _ **me.'**_ And try as Draco might, he found he couldn't stop watching her. The utter shock of what had happened was unthinkable. _She's the daughter of an enemy House, and she defended me. Sworn enemies of the Houses of The United, and she defended me against her own brother._ Draco gaped in awe as he watched the scene before him, but only Hermione remained in focus for him. Her brown curls, normally secured at the back of her neck, were free and cascaded beautifully down her back, and her fierce and fiery eyes were lit aflame as she watched the reprimand of her brother.

His reverie was broken suddenly when he felt a hand clap lightly on his left shoulder. Theodore had moved to his side. "Are you well, Draco?" Looking at his companion, yet not friend, he nodded. Theodore's face had paled slightly. "Best watch for that one, next time." Draco looked back at Tyt'o and Sirius, shaking his head slowly.

"Indeed I will." He agreed and Theodore removed his hand from Draco's person.

Realizing what a disaster had occurred before her, Ursa had had to fight herself at every second not to intervene, though every fiber in her body had screamed for her to rush over, to stop the needlessness of it. It would have done no good to undermine Sirius' authority as the Master in this, and she knew that well. But that didn't mean she wasn't warring within herself, standing there like a child wordlessly moving her mouth.

Coming back to herself, and seeing that she hadn't quite made herself a fool, Ursa excused herself without mention, and left the Great Hall. She had to speak to Loren straight-away.

As she walked through the doorway out into the halls outside, she paused and looked back in, taking one last look at Theodore, who had moved to speak to Draco as Sirius had been tearing into Tyt'o with Hermione looking on pensively. Theodore's back was to her, but she held her earlier intentions steadfast. She would approach him later and ascertain if he would accept her overture. She smiled just a little then at him and turned to leave in earnest.

The little pang she had felt so keenly in the first years after the birth of Hermione when she remembered that this would be her last hand to guide, had returned within her. With a whimsy she kept entirely to herself she mused a moment at what a blessing it would be to be disposed another child for her House and she smiled as a child would as she travelled quickly to the stairs that would lead her along the way to Loren's personal study.

Her childish musings and meanderings were nothing more than that; frivolous illusion. She knew that well, and tamped her reverie back into her mind.

What Ursa had not seen was that Theodore had turned as she had left, and realized she had borne witness to his disgrace at the triumph of her son, and he felt shame. Shame as he'd never felt in the face of his own father, the powerful and diligent Thoros Nott.

To his absolute horror, the tingling of moisture filled the rims of his eyes, and he found himself fighting back at the tears that were clawing to free themselves from him. Blinking hard and wiping his brow he fought them away before anyone had a chance to notice.

 **AN, post -**

 **Incipere –** _ **Latin;**_ **Begin.**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Thank you for all the favs and the follows!**

 **Pgoodrichboggs: you rock my socks with your reviews!**

 **Remember those warnings before the first chapter? Yeah. There's a reason this story is rated M: Minors who should not be reading NC-17/M rated materials have been warned. Pearl-clutches have also been warned.**

 **I wasn't going to get specific about what kind of triggers were included here, but once I got finished with the chapter, I re-read it and realized that there might be some serious objection. Warning for violence against women. If you can't stomach this, best not read it. My original intent was not to do this direction, but this is what seemed to be the most natural course given the circumstances.**

 **On with the show!**

 **Chapter 12**

The fireplace behind Loren crackled and popped, sending extra bursts of warmth at his right shoulder. The sun outside shone through the leaded window panes, but it hadn't quite reached midday and the room had yet to truly warm.

Loren was immersed deep within his mind as he sat unmoving at his vast desk, gazing over scattered communications over various parchments. It occurred to him recently that at one point they had all been neatly managed and organized, yet at the present moment they were strewn about in utter chaos with no rhyme or mien for guidance. What an utterly fitting metaphor for his life at this juncture.

The Lord sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily, allowing his calloused hand up and through his wavy dark hair. He closed his eyes to shut everything else out around him, to just have a moment worth of reprieve from the decisions he needed to make.

In times such as these, it was Ursa he would turn to for bolstering, and to keep a clear head. But after what he'd seen outside the Great Hall this morning….. His brown eyes shot open and he allowed his jealousy to rip through him. Sirius fucking Black. His thoughts were fuming; he should have known. While the great Master Warlock Black was a force to be sought after by all the Houses within the Guild, it was well known libertine where the hearts of women were concerned.

It had been a year since Black had been under their roof, and even then he had counted the times those gray eyes had wandered to his wife when she had looked away, or placed lips to her knuckles for a moment longer than appropriate. Though Ursa was not one to be taken with such subtle overtures, it was only so much a woman could likely fight off. Black was patient and he was driven, and Ursa was a monumental prize. Not only to just Loren, but to any man she might have given her heart to.

The Black name had once carried a great deal of regard and political clout among the society of great Houses and Lords, but it had fallen after a great scandal resulting in the exile of its scion and disappearance into thin air of the remaining heir. In the face of being forced into collusion with the Houses of The United, Sirius Black had chosen exile and abdication of his rightful status as the ascending son. He had struck out on his own with no support, and no means, and had apprenticed himself to a Master of Transfiguration.

Loren sighed again, banishing the turmoils he ruminated over in his mind over old politics. Sirius Black was but a small thorn for him right now, he knew. The greater picture was what he needed to focus on now. He raked his palms out of his hair and wiped at his face, turning his focus away from his petty jealousies over the flirtation with his wife that Warlock Black seemed to intent upon.

At this very moment, in his very home, his children and two wards were undoubtedly engaged in lessons in their Great Hall. Draco and Theodore had been here now long enough to have established a routine and for Warlock Black to have made his return journey over the vast Gresham planes and into the Morvan Mountains, and yet Loren had still not sent any communication to his brethren Houses about the revision to their Dragon riders.

Loren reached for the recent communications from the Houses of McKinnon, Longbottom and Weasley. All of which had diligently included letters of certification for each of their viable choices.

For House McKinnon it was a daughter, around the same age as Tyt'o, named Merrigan. Both the Master Warlock Moody and Necromancer Mora had included their certifications at her advanced achievements in refined spell casting and her interest in earth based magics and traditional blood rituals. Loren read the recommendations, her lists of achievements were impressive and extensive. So many years of toil and hard work had gone into the skills she was told she was going to need, and now all for waste. Loren scoffed in disgust.

It was the same for the Longbottom lad; extensive training and study with Mora, Moody and Black. Top marks, top rated skill levels. Ambition, focus and years of training invested in his potential.

The last cluster of parchment was the one that Loren Gresham felt the keenest sting from; the House of Weasley. The largest and one of the more influential Houses in the Guild, Arthurus had been vying since the years he was himself a youth for a position to apply as a Dragon Rider. Yet, in all the years since those hopes had been sewn, neither Goldoduur nor his mate Imri had so much as hinted that they planned to clutch. Yet Arthurus had trained, and planned. When he married and his wife bore him sons, he had invested in them each, one-by-one, all six sons and one lone daughter, they had all been trained.

Arthurus might not have been able to claim a place to vye for a seat in a clutch circle, but he'd made damned certain that his children would not miss out on the same opportunity. This was his life's work, passed on to his children.

The Lord of Gresham House swore under his breath as he reviewed no less ten and seven certifications for the sum total of seven children of the Weasley House. He let them fall out of his hands back onto the dark wood of his desk and hung his head in his hands again. How would this treachery plan out, in the end, he wondered? Lucius Malfoy had him, no doubt. The contract he had produced was no less legally binding in the year it was signed than it was in the present day. It could be used to embargo the Gresham House, and seclude them in years of legal battle between the two opposing factions. It would be years of counsels and appeals, followed by fines and enforced restitutions. It would bankrupt his lands, and wage famine to his people.

Both Loren and Ursa had vowed that they would do everything to keep Hermione from being taken to a House allied to The United. They had sworn it by their blood as Gresham's and by their sacred place as the keepers and riders of Dragons. Loren shuddered at the realization that were his daughter to be taken to the Malfoys, that she would be as good as lost to Lucius himself. A vile and despicable man, with no revere of regard to anything but power, money, and status. He'd married one of the most beautiful and talented daughters of the great Houses, and had abused her so thusly that she was a mere shell of her young self.

Thinking of Hermione's sweetness and idealistic countenance being poisoned as the Lady Malfoy had made Loren Gresham stricken with a fear he would never admit to another living person. He would summon Goldoduur himself from the very mountains and set forth an assault on the Malfoy lands before he gave that god-damned man his only daughter.

This was nothing short of an absolute disaster. Years and years of people's lives and livelihoods were for nothing now, and still Loren pandered back and forth with how best to give news to each of the Houses.

There was no way that this sort of announcement would be received well in a mere missive. Nor even by way of an emissary. This breech needed to be faced head-on by Loren Gresham personally, and it would have to be done with all Houses present to receive each of their grievances, and address restitutions.

The sound of a creaking door interrupted Loren's raging thoughts, and his head whipped up from where he hung it to see the face of his wife, tentative and nervous, begging a hesitant entry to his personal study. "Enter, wife." he croaked out, and straightened his posture as Ursa tentatively crossed the threshold towards her husband.

Having assumed he'd been able to put away his feelings of jealousy over having come across Sirius holding his wife so closely outside of their Great Hall, he discovered that in her presence he was quite mistaken and he fought with himself as he was unable to look up at her as she walked nearer to him. He was, after all, still only a man.

Ursa had hurried to Loren's study and stood calmly outside collecting herself for as many moments before she'd dared to enter. She didn't wish to convey her nervousness, but she could barely contain the wringing of her hands as she tried to maintain her pace.

"Something the matter, my love?" Loren asked, his tone slightly bitter in his address of her but Ursa didn't pay it any attention. She simply sighed that her husband knew her well enough to see her distress, and pay mention upon it.

"Oh, Loren," she started with a relieved sigh. "I need to speak to you about the lessons. Sir Black-" Loren whipped his head toward her and glared. At the mention of that name, he'd finally snapped under the pressure and this was the final piece that sent him over the edge.

"And what have you to say about him, I wonder?" He asked with a bitter tone. Ursa had stopped just shy of his desk before seating herself opposite, shocked at his outpouring of acidity.

"I'm not certain I follow, Loren." Loren scoffed and scowled a moment.

"I'm sure you do, my lovely wife." He bit out, and she peered at him in confusion yet again. Loren bit back what he wanted to say, realizing he was going to have to bide himself a moment.

"Of course you aren't, dear. I pray then, continue on." He waved his hand at her dismissively, though Ursa maintained her wariness as she continued again, slowly.

"Sir Black has begun his instruction in earnest, pairing the children up with our wards in turns." Loren nodded.

"Excellent. The sooner they begin working through these lessons the better. I trust then they are faring well?" he added, but Ursa shook her head.

"Hermione and Tyt'o did well enough, not showy or conspicuous. They ended well; Hermione won. I just watched our son face off to Draco Malfoy, and not only did he disobey the rules of dueling from Sir Black, he threw a spell once he'd ended the exchange Loren. The spell could have maimed that boy."

Her husband laughed then, taking Ursa by surprised. It was a throaty and full sound, but felt hollow without true mirth. It sounded cruel. "But it didn't, did it?" he countered and she shook her head again. "Then why does it matter that Tyt'o wanted to show him a share of his skill? What does it matter if Malfoy leaves the duel a little worse for wear? Surely Sir Black" he emphasized mockingly. "Had the matter well in hand?"

"Your daughter stepped in and defended him Loren!" Now that caught Loren's attention.

"She did what?"

"Hermione blocked the spell and hit her own brother with it." Now Loren was getting more agitated.

"What in the depths of Hades was Black doing this entire time? Caressing your fingertips as the two of you watched?"

There is was. Ursa flinched noticeably, and lowered her tone immediately. "I beg your pardon, my Lord?" the admonishing tone didn't faze her husband, and he stood to his full height out of his chair, leaning towards her over the desk.

"While our son was practicing his magical technique against a sworn enemy of this House, where in fucking House were you, Ursa?" He demanded, raising his voice to a booming shout. His wife stepped back every slightly.

"My Lord," She began softly, holding her hands up in a pleading manner. "I but sat apart near the fire to watch over the lesson-" she tried imploringly, but Loren advanced undeterred.

"So you mean to tell me that as our son dueled, and threw an underhanded move, you stood by and did nothing? That Black did nothing? Instead our daughter intervened while the two adults -both skilled in their own magic- were dumbstruck into inaction?!" Ursa had backed up in earnest, and she felt a perspiring coolness upon her and a panic roiling out of her middle. Her Lord was positively enraged and had whipped around his desk to cut off her path to the door and force her back until she was pinned against his desk.

Roughly he grabbed his her shoulders and she hissed at the strength in his grip as he squeezed mercilessly. "Where the fuck were you, Ursa?" He growled out, increasing his pressure to cause her to cry out, grabbing at his larger hands to pull him off.

"Loren Please! I was- I was there!" She stammered between whimpers of pain. "I sat at the hearth, I never left! I called for drink from the staff! They will attest that they saw me-" Loren grabbed harder and pushed her backward so she had to leave off his hands to catch herself before she slammed into the top of his desk.

"You are mine, Ursa. You are MY wife!" he snarled into her ear, and for the first time in the years they had been married, Ursa felt terror take ahold of her entire being. Her body kept screaming in pain as Loren's strong hands crushed into the soft flesh around her shoulders. There was no doubt of the bruising that would bloom upon them later. Tears had formed in her eyes, and had begun to well up past her lids she whimpered, and cried out.

"Loren you are hurting me! Stop!" she cried, and he slammer her into the desk, making her voice break. "I would never disgrace you!"

Her Lord's face was pressed into her cheek, dragging ragged breaths from himself his rage rang out. "Black is a lecher and a cad! Don't you think I haven't seen how he looks at you, woman?" Ursa's tears pooled at the bridge of her nose before flowing across her face as she whimpered, her husband's crushing grip keeping her still, his hot breath in her ear and voice ringing her eardrums. She tried to shake her head; she had always been dutiful to him. Faithful. Loving. She knew her husband had a temper, but he had never handled her thusly.

"Please," she whispered finally. "Please Loren-" her voice cracked. "I love you. Only you. There is only you." Ursa reached one of her hands up to his forearm, her eyes clenched and her tears unchecked. As her hand made contact with his forearm her fingers brushed his cheek and Loren's painful grip suddenly relaxed and let her go. Loren remained on top of his wife, crushing her beneath his larger body atop his desk, her form wracked then with the sound of her sobs.

The sound of Loren's ragged breath broke and Ursa parted her tear-filled eyes to look upon her husband. His expression of rage had broken and left only grief and remorse in its stead. His tears and sobbing were all that remained, and she touched his cheek with as much of her palm as she could reach, and Loren wrapped his strong arms around her.

His beautiful wife, the mother of his children; he forced her down upon his desk as though she was no better than a common woman of pleasure, and her cries of pain had been wrought by his hands. He was a goddamned monster. "Gods forgive me Ursa." He implored, stroking her as he wept atop her. Ursa joined him in his outpouring, lifting her head to meet her forehead with his.

In all of their marriage, Loren had never once laid a hand of harm on his wife. She was his most beloved of all things in his life, and in his misguidance he had disgraced, humiliated, and harmed her. He had betrayed his vows to care for her as no other, violating their decrees of marriage. His behavior disgusted him to no end, its foulness lay waste to his mind as all he could hear were the cries of his wife as he'd handled her so despicably.

"My love. My truest, dearest love, please forgive me." He begged and buried his mouth into the nape of her neck, tangling the start of his beard and wetness of his tears into her beautiful brown hair.

The moment of violence and fear had passed, but between her calming tears Ursa's body shook as the high of panic receded and her body tried to purge her of the terror he'd caused her, but she couldn't control herself and couldn't manage to find her own voice.

"I love you. I love you as no other, my one. My only true one." She shuddered deeper, willing her body to soften to him, her husband, but finding herself unable to release herself into his embrace, and unable to push against the bulk of him that covered her. Ursa was pinned down below him and only by his leave would she be released.

The two of them remained laid atop the desk together for what felt like an hour. The light of the sun had crossed from midday into the early afternoon, so she was unable to tell with certainly how much time had passed. Loren held his wife fiercely, whispering apologies over and over to Ursa, murmuring his love and devotion and promises that he would never abuse in such a way again. The two had eventually shifted and flattened themselves along the top of the wood and held each other through quiet promises and soft brushes of their lips.

Meeting his earthly brown eyes, Ursa held Loren's stare to comfort herself in his sincerity, and his soft lips met her own without breaking eye contact. They were uncertain at first, hesitant in the wake of the violence he had committed on her body, but she softened for him.

"I have loved you since before I knew what love was." He whispered to her as he gently brushed against her mouth, opening slightly to taste her sweetness. The weight of him atop her was familiar; so many years of his body entwined in hers imbued her with such familiarity to him. At the feel of his lips entreating hers, she parted her lips for him.

Loren sighed in relief that she accepted his overtures and he tenderly stroked her lips with his own, glancing gently with his tongue. His kisses were so tender, so sweet and gentle, Ursa met his lips with her own, sharing her mouth and tongue as they danced together, returning to each other in their kiss.

Loren smoothed his wife's hair gently as he worshiped her mouth so lovingly, groaning and whispering without end, speaking to her of his love and devotion and Ursa in turn fitted her arms in the small space between them to cup his face in hers as she leaned upward to meet with him, kissing him over and over as she drank in his words.

Loren continued in his gentle caresses of his wife, gently moving from her hair to her clavicle, delicately running his fingertips at the little bits of exposed skin that were available to him and breaking his mouth from hers to rain the softness of his mouth along the bare expanse of her throat, and tops of her shoulders. The sensation washed over her skin, tingling and warm, causing her hips to roll just slightly with it as it moved across her, and pulled a low moan from Loren's mouth as he pulled so carefully along the shoulder of her dress to expose her shoulder.

With his own eyes, he could see the damage he had delivered her; several large bruises were already blooming along her perfect skin where he'd gripped her. He squeezed his eyes shut a moment, admonishing himself at his repulsive behavior, and lathed her over and over again tenderly, ministering to the blemishes with his lips and hints of his tongue. _He was no monster, this woman was his truest love, and he would make recompense to her for the rest of his life if he needed to._

Ursa breathed deeply and moaned at Loren's tenderness, the wet trails from the traces of his tongue igniting along her uncovered skin and the cool of his breath. Just above the bone of her hips, she felt him roll his hardened length into her as he drug himself lower still to rub himself at the more intimate part of her.

"Aaaaaaaah." she sighed as Loren gently slid the fabric covering her shoulders down, smoothly and methodically rubbing himself between her legs as he did. His kisses and the attentions of his tongue never ended as while he exposed more and more of her warm, soft skin, paying benediction to every inch that he could reach. Ursa melted into the wood beneath her as her husband loved her endlessly with his attentions.

With a little tug, he pulled the cloth of her dress down over her beautiful breasts, exposing them to the air. Ursa gasp at the sudden change of temperature, pebbling her skin, Loren sunk into the flesh of her breasts with abandon. He lapped, kissed, and suckled at them tenderly, leaving his wife to begin a writhing motion that matched his own. Gentle and unhurried rolls started in her hips, keeping time with his own hardness that was rubbing ceaselessly between her legs, exciting her.

Loren released the the cloth of her gown and cupped her beautiful soft breasts with reverence as he paid each of them in turn their proper exaltation. He lapped carefully at her perfectly shaped dusky areola with the flat of his tongue, avoiding her taut and aching nipple, and she arched into his mouth to try to push herself toward him. Refusing to deny her, he swirled and suckled around her once, twice, and continuously and she moaned deeply as he flicked his tongue over her hard nipple while he suckled softly.

Ursa's arms had been pinned inside the long sleeves of her gown, and she tried to ease them out, to reach for her husband, to feel her limbs free to explore and express to him how utterly divine his touch felt on her body. Loren smiled as he turned his attention to her other breast, and lightly played at the nipple of the one he had just left. Ursa could not possibly contain the gasping and panting, and mounting tension which drove her on and on beneath him, and he lapped it up as surely as he lapped his tongue along her. Over, and over he licked, and played with her, keeping the rhythm between their hips steady. "Oh gods Loren," Ursa whispered. "Oh please." she absolutely ached for him, to feel him all over her.

Freeing his hands, he smoothed them down the long folds of her gown, pulling it up foot by foot until he grasp at the hem and found the smooth expanses of her calves. He sighed as he continued his ritual to the flesh of her breasts, and the soft skin between them, cupping the back of her legs and slowly moving them up her body. Finally finding the freedom from her sleeves, she wove her hands through his dark wavy hair, running her nails sensuously along his scalp and down his shoulders, urging him further.

Loren very methodically eased his hands further, coordinating his body movements between the suckling of her breasts, to the teasing of her nipples, a rolling thrust of his hips as he continued to bring her tension higher and higher, his hands moving along the backs of her thighs, curling his fingers further under to find her delicate seam from underneath.

Oh, how Loren adored her body! Never breaking his pressure between their hips, he reached his hands to the ties of her undergarments and pulled the ties away, guiding the cloth from her hips. He released her succulent breast from his mouth with a soft pop and trailed kisses up her throat to her chin, whispering to her "You are as sweet as life itself, my heart, let me taste your sweetness." Ursa could barely breathe, but nodded her agreement and eased her body back lifting her hands above her head, while Loren journeyed back along her skin, paying attention at every place possible.

Free from restriction beneath her gown, Loren cupped his left hand around the back of her leg to cup her cheek, and slowly, teasingly swiped along the soft lips of her seam with his other hand. The sensation of his touch sent Ursa nearly out of her own body as she gasped in pleasure. Once, twice, and he would pause, causing her to bow her back up as she gasped and panted, her noises nonsensical and filled with ecstasy.

With a careful motion, Loren worked the ties of his breeches free in the pause between his ministrations and freed himself into the open air. His length bounded free with exuberance, and he coated the tips of his two fingers in his mouth to return them beneath the hidden reaches of his wifes beautiful body. Finding her wet outer lips, he tenderly touched them, moving his fingers upward through them gently, once, and again, making her writhe so beautifully.

Such a beautiful creature she was there, beneath him. Her long hair flowing freely all around her in shining waves like a creature of pure light. Her sensuous skin glowing in the sun, exposed so in the air of the room, her perfect lips parted and panting, begging and wanting for him to continue with his play of her body.

Running along her slick inner folds, he teased her canal delving only slightly into it to wet his fingers upon her, and traveling upward using the wetness to work her sensitive bundle at the peak of her lips. Ursa gasp and lifted from the top of his desk as his calloused hands gently tendered to her soft and responsive clit over and over with methodical gentility. With the hand holding beneath her leg, his fingers could just reach his throbbing length and he angled the swelling of his end to gentle probe along her opening, which was soaked completely with her juices.

Loren knew every inch of Ursa's body, and how best to make it sing for him. He plied every ounce of himself to his task and worked his fingers over her delicious tender numb as he tantalised her with the tip of his prick. All the while Ursa moaned over and over, writhing endlessly as he worked tirelessly to bring her pleasure, to worship and adore her beautiful body. To drink in the soft sounds of her moans and pleas for release. He feasted his eyes on her hooded eyes, drunken with lust and her steadily approaching climax. Onward he worked her, dipping only briefly back to her entrance to secure her wetness again as he circled her again and again, and she begged him in return not to stop.

The tension in her hips started as the pattern of her writhing changed and slowed for only a few moments. She was so close, and Loren knew it. He steadied himself with only his tip moving inside the entrance to her heated and soaking core, her juices covering the end of his cock as he burned to bury it deep within her body, to feel her softness all around him as he plunged into her. The mark of her orgasm was marked with a long intake of breath, and she cried suddenly "Come into me! Oh, come! Come!" She cried. Loren could scarecly refuse, and he plunged in her as his fingers never left her, pushing her further as she crested the wave of her shuddering climax, the walls of her softness closed all around his hardness and he plunged slowly and rhythmically, mimicking the sensation of her fluttering walls as she gasped and cried.

As the waves crashed over her repeatedly, Loren softened his favor of her perfect pearl until he was barely touching her and increased his pace within her as the orgasm reached its culmination. Beneath him his exquisite wife rolled and writhed in the joy of sensation he had performed and he loved every moment he witnesses as she soaked it up.

Continuing on his light touched, little waves continued as he pumped himself into her, grunting his delight, and thrusting just so as the tip of him met with the very depths inside her. She gasped each time, and lauded how delightful it felt for him to reach that part within her.

Their eyes met as he thrust again and again, his long hair waving along his face as he concentrated solely on her, on her beautiful face and sublime figure. Loren knew he wouldn't last long looking at her like this, and he didn't want to either. He longed to fill his beloved with his seed, to explode within her and have her wrapped around every part of him she could touch.

She rocked her hips into him in time with his thrusts into her, and she reached up with her arms to smooth them down his own, to connect with him. It was perfection. She was perfection. He felt his orgasm rolling on and he cried her name as he leaned down to her to claim her lips as his hands secured her hips and his thrusts shallowed and became erratic. His hot ejaculate pumping over and over to him as he gasp for breath between kissed until he stilled himself, and met his forehead with hers. His hands cupping her jaw, leaning over her form in her now-disheveled dress.

As they came down from their respective highs and their vision cleared, the stared at the other as they panted. Ursa smiled and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, easing him upon her bared breasts and she kissed him again, and for a moment she was afraid to speak first.

Her husband smiled at her, his familiar scent filled her with reminders of his love and their care for each other, and he knew then that he was forgiven. Ursa tightened him into her embrace, and they basked in the sunlight together.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Thank you everyone for the reviews! I PM'd as many people as I could, but those of you that didn't log in I wasn't able to respond directly to you.**

 **Jazzygirl: Thank you for taking the time to review, and I am glad you like the story! I can definitely see what you mean; as the writer I'm more removed from how it translates on some level so I didn't consider that. However, overall, as the reader, would you want to see/read more of that same kind of stuff (obv not with these two characters, but just in an overall sense?) Let me know sometime, I hope to be able to craft a story that you all as the readers will highly enjoy.**

 **Pgoodrichboggs; you rock my socks with your reviews! I hope my PM helped round things out a little, and I'll try to add some of that to the story as I go as well.**

 **Grovek26: I posted my chapter before sending you a thank you, but thank you again!**

 **On with it then!**

 **Chapter 13**

Mid-morning sun lit the little glass-paned room where Narcissa Malfoy sat quietly, eyes closed, feeling the warmth over her face. It wasn't often she took to direct sun, as she favored her fair complexion and wished to take care for it. But there were times when she felts as though the heat of the sun would warm away the very ice that threatened to form over the heart that beat deep in her chest.

She breathed deep and felt the shudder of a sob attempt to overtake her, and she fought stubbornly against it as it tried to rattle through her frame. Narcissa blatantly refused to allow her emotions to overtake her, and she breathed deeper yet again, using everything in her mind outside of her very magic to tamp down the despairing weeping that was trying to will itself out of her.

Fingering the soft, wrinkled parchment in her hands, she reminded herself that her son was alive, and he was well, and for this she would take comfort. The House of Gresham might be in the very heart of the opposition to those of The United, but it appeared that Loren Gresham's vows to keep her son safe as their families ward was held true. For that too, she was eternally thankful.

Once the Lady Malfoy had gotten herself a little more under control, and felt her breathing return to its regulated pace, she opened her eyes and looked down again on the crumpled letter that she'd still had clenched in her pale, feminine fingers. The letter had been crushed and crumpled before Lucius had un-ceremoniously dropped in into her lap, without so much as a word to her as to what it was, or news of their son. She'd hadn't been taken completely by surprise by his lack of interest in talking to her, just that his visit was so entirely abrupt: She wasn't usually so lucky.

It was an indignity unspoken around the Malfoy House of what went on behind the chamber doors of Lucius Malfoy and his wife. So many mornings she had awoken to the wide eyes of elves who had tended to her though the night once Lucius had left her, tears welling in their unusually large orbs at the sight of her waking finally, body sore and bandaged. The embarrassment that would wash over her continuously at _knowing that they knew._

Narcissa darkened a moment, thinking of her husband, Lucius Malfoy. A cold, calculating and sadistic bastard among wizards is what he was. She unintentionally closed her hands around her son's letter, crushing it momentarily as she thought of her _husband._ The word was poison, even in her mind, and she spat upon it any chance she could. Were she but still an unmarried or betrothed girl in her _own_ House, the ancient and noble House of Black, she would have spat on his very face.

That is, were there still a House of Black. Following the untimely death of her aunt and uncle Orion and his wife, the two remaining heirs had been scattered to the wind. Their ancestral home abandoned and their lands and people sent astray to wither work the lands or move to another fiefdom. It had never been explained to her as to which was the ultimate outcome, so she'd never known truly what had happened.

Hearing the crinkling of the paper in her hands, she realized she was ruining further the letter from her son, and released her hands. Sighing slightly, she smoothed it out on her lap, ignoring the embroidery she had put down to pick it up from the floor where Lucius had dumped it for her.

Draco's penmanship peered up from the wrinkles of the paper; perfect and concise, as she had always instructed him. She warmed inside, feeling her happiness return at this little connection she was permitted. Her happy memories coming back to her once again.

 _To my father the rightful Lord Lucius Malfoy,_

 _I have reached the House of Gresham in good health and countenance, along with my compatriot Young Theodore Nott. His Lord and Ladyship show us both the utmost consideration and have endeavored to see to our comfort and well-being. They have squandered no time in provisions for instruction and we begin this day with our instructor, the Master Warlock Sirius Black._

Narcissa paused, and let out a soft gasp as she read the name. _Cousin Sirius,_ she thought in wonderment. She'd never known, _truly,_ what had become of him after he had been cast from the House, disowned and disgraced. Narcissa read on.

 _The Morvan Mountains are a sight indeed to behold; they are as wild as they are beautiful. Both the young Lord and Lady themselves have taken great interest in taking us to explore what parts we can reach._

 _I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Please convey my love and regard to her Ladyship, my mother, Narcissa Malfoy, in that I wish her happiness and plenty through lughnasadh and mabon._

 _Your son,_

 _Draco Malfoy_

Narcissa considered the letter carefully. There was an unusual space between the first two paragraphs, she noted. Almost as if Draco had paused for a great length, unsure of what exactly to write. It was interesting he had noted the Morvan Mountains. Certainly, tales had reached even the gossip-filled ears of the Ladies of The Houses United of their grandeur. Definitively nothing less would be expected out of the home of Dragons, she figured.

But, in the finishing of the letter, and the aching in her breast, she admitted to herself that she herself wished she could have been with Draco in that carriage that had taken him along the vast expanse of the Gresham lands, and into those fabled tall mountains. To be free from this dark and sorrowful House. To be free of her life, as it was.

She sighed. Such dreams and musings were of no use to her, and those days of her hopeful youth were long behind her now. She shook her head regretfully and put her embroidery down from her lap, and stood to move to her writing desk. Flattening a sheet of parchment, she wrote in her perfectly formed script to her son. _My Dearest son, Draco Malfoy, I am overjoyed to hear of your safe arrival to the House of Gresham…._

The fireplace at the side of the hall crackled and popped, and with it brought waves of heat into the otherwise-chilled great hall of Malfoy Castle. With summer all but ended, the stone and wooden halls tended to pick up warmth slowly, and held it loosely as well. Lucius' rich robes were lined with the finest ermine pelts attainable, and he took great pleasure wrapping himself luxuriously within them.

The hall around him was lit by candles and the scant sun that appeared from the windows, and he witnessed passively as a nameless, faceless elf poured wine into his goblet from a carried decanter. The bat-eared creature looked down and away from its Lord's face in supplication, and fear.

With a gesture of his hand the elf ceased, and returned to stand at the wall where it would wait until it was summoned again. The quiet of the hall was as a calm to Lucius, and he swirled his wine before his nose lightly, taking in the aromas that permeated beneath his nose before taking a long pull. It was warm and luxurious; just as he enjoyed it. A fine enough vintage for a midday convention, certainly.

From the end of the hall, a heavy wooden door opened, and in strode the visages of Amadeus Avery, Thoros Nott, and finally the brothers Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Lucius Malfoy placed his goblet on the table before him and standing, straightened the hem of his coat beneath his robes, smoothing down imaginary bunches as he stood. He inclined his head and raised his arm in welcome to his table.

"Lords, I welcome you. Prithee come join me table." He requested in an aristocratic tone.

"Malfoy-" Amadeus stated without ceremony or cordiality as he approached the table, removing his gloves, as did Thoros and Rabastan and Rodolphus in kind. Each were adorned with the finest woolen robes of the softest cashmeres, in dark rich tones, and finely sewn, showcasing their finery quite plainly.

Lucius motioned to the elf again at the goblets before him as his guests seated themselves, and the little creature ducked its head and followed dutifully as the men all situated and sat accordingly. Amadeus, the self-proclaimed ringleader of their group, sat semi-straight to Lucius, leaned his elbow on the table and inward toward the table. "Straight to business, Malfoy, we've not come here to entertain your little games." Lucius sneered just slightly as he took a sip of wine.

"And lo' I was certain I wasn't expecting any little games here, Avery." He said, returning the subtle slight Avery had paid him by omitting his title. Amadeus spat and slapped his leather gloves on the top of the table.

"Don't play coy with us, Lucius!" He exclaimed hotly, pointing his finger at Lucius menacingly. "Out with it then! What then be this scheme you've sold to Lord Riddle that's got him so enamored completely on your designs then, eh?" Lucius raised his perfectly shaped blond eyebrows at the man. Avery's dark hair, sprinkled with a little gray falling slightly out from its coif.

Lucius chuckled darkly and set his goblet down calmly. "Amadeus, calm yourself. I have revealed all my designs to the Houses, as you well know." His tone was smug, but Amadeus knew better. So did Thoros, but he held himself yet and watched the scene before him like a hawk, his fierce blue eyes drilling into Lucius directly.

Rodolphus, who had hung back waiting Amadeus to finish, suddenly spoke. "You're as slippery as they come Malfoy, and at the left hand of Lord Riddle himself. With certainty you've heard him speak of his plans to move forward against The Guild?" Lucius sighed, bored with the bombardment of these power-hungry men and their incessant pecking at him. Such an annoyance they were at this moment, coming to his home to rail him with petty questions that he had no intention of answering.

Quite blessedly, he didn't have to deflect the question: At that moment, the door to the hall flew open, banging loudly on the opposite wall, causing all four guests at the table to jump and look towards the noise. With robes billowing behind him, strode the imposing figure of Lord Thomas Riddle, Lucius Malfoy immediately rode, elegantly bowing to the newcomer into their midst.

Lord Riddle's almost-black hair was swept back with simple elegance that just barely dusted the top of his outer robes. The blackness of them was dark and rich, elegantly styled but without the frivolous décor or markings such that the Lords as Lucius's table employed on their clothes. Lord Riddle was far more subtle than that. Upon his pale face was a smirk that hinted slightly at delight as he strode forward, sweeping himself around the table to stand next to where Lucius returned to his seat.

"My Lords, it seems I find you in conclave without me." The four at the table flinched, save for Lucius who buried himself deeper in his self-satisfaction. Amadeus Avery, ever the apple-polisher spoke first.

"Our deepest apologies My Lord Riddle, we were merely here in search of clues from Lord Malfoy as to how his son fares with the despot House Gresham. As does Lord Nott with the welfare of his own heir." He gestured to Thoros beside him, and Thoros all but glared at Avery. The bastard was dragging him into the spotlight to deflect, but in light of being liable for a clandestine assembly for their own yet-undisclosed gains he played along.

"Amadeus speaks true, My Lord." He supplicated, though almost through his teeth as he tried to shield his annoyance. "Both boys have sent letters home and I merely sought to compare information to ensure there was no subtle message we were missing. Perhaps warning us they were in danger." Thoros held himself very sure under the scrutinizing gaze of Lord Thomas Riddle; his dark hazel eyes bore into him like daggers as he listened, unblinking. There was some truth in what Thoros Nott had told him, that much was certain, but not the complete truth.

The Lord Riddle smiled then at Thoros Nott, quite unexpectedly. "Quite expected, Thoros." He said, and pulled himself a chair. Lucius took the liberty of waving a hand at the elf, once again, to attend to Lord Riddle's goblet.

Lord Riddle's eyes scrutinized each one of them in turn. Although he was reluctant to release his gaze from Thoros directly, as though his eyes could bore holes in Thoros's lies and out would pour the truth from within. Rabastan and Rodolphus shifted slightly in their seats, uncomfortable under the examination. "We must certainly ensure the safety of your heirs, must we not?" Lord Riddle inquired further. "We couldn't expect that their letters contain anything _but_ the truth, now would we?"

Tom Riddle's emphasis on the word 'truth' caused it to stand out considerably. "For without truth and honesty, what would we have, gentlemen?" Tom looked from one end of the Lords to the other, using his pause in dramatic emphasis. "We would have lies, and mistrust, wouldn't we?" The four men didn't so much as nod, they only stared waiting for the Lord Riddle to reach his conclusion, waiting for his lead. "And when the Lords of our great United Houses cannot trust in each other, then we have found ourselves with a very serious problem." He drawled out the last of his statement, pointedly.

Amadeus cleared his throat and sniffed as he adjusted himself, glancing at his hands for a mere second before he supplicated to Lord Riddle. "My Lord, we are merely present today to-" Amadeus Avery was abruptly cut off with Tom Riddles hand slamming into the thick wood creating a bang that caused the table to bounce. The force of it knocked over a goblet and caused every attendant seated to jump in reaction, Lucius included.

"Be very careful with your next words, Avery." Tom warned, his eyes darkened and fixated on Amadeus's face. Tom's hand remained flat on the wood, and the five men around him could _feel_ the tell-tale tingling of magic as it surrounded them in a show of his capability. "As it stands now, I can scarcely think of a reason not to keep going." Amadeus felt a sudden lash of pain along his spine and hissed as he bowed his back forward. Tom smiled lightly at the sight and released the spell.

Panting, Amadeus looked up and nodded his deferment to Tom and wisely kept his mouth shut. Lord Riddle pulled back his offense, and leaned back into his chair with a disturbing level of calm.

"Now that we seem to be in order, I believe you, Avery, and you Lords Lestrange, will be leaving us." The dismissal was given with neither gesture nor expression, but the three men nodded their head in acquiescence and left the table. Amadeus shakily rising just a fraction slower than either Rodolphus or Rabastan. Tom trained his eye on the trio as they exited the hall, and the door was shut behind them.

"Now, my Lords." Tom started placidly. "It comes to us to unravel the secrets of the House of the Greshams and the perpetual annoyance they present within the Guild. Lucius, what has young Draco writ to you?"

"He writes to me of his safe journey and arrival for both himself and young Theodore. He mentions nothing of the sort of training nor instruction he receives by-name, but he does inform me that but one his instructors is none other than Sir Sirius Black, appointed as a Master Warlock." Tom's brows rose.

"Has he now? And did you heed my counsel? Does our boy know that his House is bound in contract of marriage to that of Gresham?"

"I told him nothing of his contractual obligation, my lord." Lucius kept very still with his reply, unsure as to whether or not the Lord Riddle would find his answers pleasing, or not.

Tom turned to Thoros. "What news have you received of your young man, then?" Thoros took a breath in and leveled his gaze.

"He writes that he takes lessons directly with the Gresham heirs, and that the Lady of the House bid him to write me to confirm his safe passage, that they are provided comforts and luxuries befitting a guest of the House."

"Ah, the Lady Ursa Gresham." Tom said, almost softly, but scoffed subtly with the end of her name. Thoros almost blinked, thinking he'd heard wrong. Tom came to himself again. "Then all goes well, and we shall reconvene whence you receive your next letters. I bid you write them in response, tell them they are missed and treasured and that you await their news patiently. Assure them their House remains in solidarity to them."

"So it shall be done." Thoros and Lucius said together.

"What of our designs for the Houses in neutrality, My Lord?" Thoros queried.

"Ah, yes. For the House of Harben, and House of Abildgaard. I have arranged vassals to seek audience, and will require your own most noble," He paused, sliding his glance to both parties. " _Persuasion_. When the time presents itself, of course." Tom smiled wickedly then. "I have sent parties in search of alternative sources, should that which we seek to bring from the Gresham's along with your heirs proves unsuccessful."

Thoros caught on immediately. "You've found them then?" He was almost excited as he asked, and it must have showed on his face because Tom looked at him with a flash of rile in his expression.

"I sent trusted parties in search, to observe and report. Should it present itself then, to learn more about aligning ourselves with any factions of red Dragons that remain in these lands." He confirmed.

Red Dragons would be a coup, indeed, mused Thoros. The old writings had described them as fiercely unpleasant, and difficult to win to any cause. The acerbic lizards had all but cannibalized themselves into obliviously low numbers as it was, so to find and parlay with any one of them…. Well, that would turn the tables in their bid to tip the scales of power indeed. "Has it been considered what we might offer them, to spark their interest?" Thoros added.

Tom gestured to Thoros. "Do you have any specific notion?" Thoros smiled: He had been researching Dragon lore for several years, and had made some interesting discoveries in recent months that he had held back during the greater meetings with the fellow United Houses. He yet was certain that he was the only man who knew of the various inklings to which the Dragons leaned.

"Perhaps we exchange magics?" He offered. Lord Riddle raised his brow.

"Tell me more, then." He bade carefully. Riddle had tasked Thoros with gathering all the ancient text and tomes that contained information about Dragons, though there seemed to be little that was available to the Houses among the United. Most infuriatingly, it seemed, that the Houses of Gresham, Harben and Abildgaard were in possession of the bulk of useful information, and two of those three Houses were inaccessible to Lord Riddle as of yet.

Thoros treaded very carefully with Lord Riddle. While the powerful Lord had all but assumed himself as the head and leader of the Houses of The United, Thoros was uncertain if Riddle could lead them to true power over the opposing Guild. While Riddle's brilliance at magic was almost unparalleled, there were still some Houses yet that had subtle doubts as to whether or not Riddle's schemes could bear the fruit that men such as Thoros was interested in.

"Old lores speak of Red Dragons being taught their own magics from a young age, though of an arcane nature and never spoken of specifically. The last of their numbers shrank back from the lands of mages when the great Gold Dragons burned them out some several thousand years ago, and they have not yet returned since."

Tom Riddle nodded thoughtfully as Thoros had spoken, carefully drinking in everything. "Bring me these tomes you have uncovered Thoros, as I wish to read for myself what 'arcanes' they discuss." Thoros had suspected his materials would be called upon, but ever the step-ahead he'd tasked a copy to be made to pass along to Lord Riddle which had omitted much of the information on the magic that he wished to discover. He nodded to Lord Riddle.

"I shall have them sent presently, Sir."

Tom picked up his goblet, finally allowing himself a very mild revelry and nodded to Lucius without words. He sampled the wine delicately and replaced it onto the table. Lucius had kept himself silent as a witness. "Now tell me, Lucius, how plan you to respond to your son?" Lucius' mouth spread into a smug grin.

Stepping quietly over the stone floor of the castle, Narcissa's lovely gown whispered around her legs with delicacy. Years of practice at not being seen or heard was a talent she didn't have to work hard at; her frame was svelte and slight, and not hard to float across any floor. When her Lord husband didn't oversee to her wardrobe specifications, she often saw to it that the fabrics used were light and soft rather than silky or satin as they made more noises when she walked. Such was the subtle means she had to manipulate in her confined and cloistered life.

From down the hall, the sounds of voices filled the hall, and she automatically slipped into a near alcove to shield herself from view; the men speaking were not wholly unfamiliar, but certainly not whom she would wish to encounter without her husband present. He did dislike her being unaccompanied about the House, despite that she was its supposed mistress.

"Calculating, sly, son of a whore." Amadeus Avery snarled to the Lestrange brothers, who followed closely at his heels. Rodolphus shook his head slowly.

"It figures Riddle would take private counsel with Nott and Malfoy." Rabastan grumbled and moved his auburn hair back behind his ear. His older brother, Rodolphus interjected as though he hadn't spoken.

"Have you word from the Carrows yet after their little 'trip' for Riddle?" Rodolphus asked Avery, and Avery ascended his confirmation.

"Aye, and they have been bidden to meet with me to reveal all they have found _before_ they travel to meet Riddle."

Their conspiring whispers were audible and mostly clear to Narcissa from where she stood. She held her breath carefully so as not to make any noises, but not to miss any information. _So Riddle had sent the Carrows as though they were his own menials._ She pondered this. _Where would he send them, and why was this significant enough to go skulking around the Malfoy Castle in secret?_ Narcissa's brow scrunched up as she considered the information she'd gathered recently.

She wished briefly there was a possibility for her to have reason to travel to the Gresham House, to see everything unfolding in front of her, rather than to resort to skulking in dark corners and quickly breezing over parchment in his husbands study.

The trio of men continued in their exchange of plans and meetings together, beginning to return to their journey out of the Castle, and Narcissa allowed her breathing to return to normal. Carefully she edged out of her hidden recess and swiftly took to the stairs to the owlry.

Securing several gold pieces into a leather pouch, she motioned to a medium sized long eared owl among several larger, more imposing and elegant specimens that were kept for messages. The long ear preened at being called, and she ruffled her spotted gray, brown and white feathers happily. Her bright yellow eyes blinking intelligently in the circle of golden feathers around her face. Narcissa smiled quietly and tickled the owl.

"Hello my pretty night prowler." She whispered affectionately, cooing as she scratched gently. The owls eyes squeezed shut slightly, blinking alternately, as it leaned into her enjoying the attentions. None at the Malfoy castle were as attentive and kind as Narcissa. "Take this to the town called Brandwell at the very edges of the Gresham lands, to an Inn that hangs a sign of horse and dragon. A man will be there by the named Tanner and he will see the letters hence." She tied the pouch to one ankle, and her letters to the other.

"Go, my beauty." She bade, and the owl spread her wings and took off into the air away from the castle. Narcissa watched the owl only a moment before she returned to her rooms to return to her rooms, hoping silently that her letters reached her son as soon as possible.

 **AN:**

 **lughnasadh: the first of 3 wiccan harvest festivals. The other two being mabon and Samhain. This is important in this story due to the connection of wizards/the lands/magic. This is on August 1** **st** **. This is marked in the sharing of bread and grain to symbolize the first fruits of harvest.**

 **Mabon: Autumnal equinox. The harvest moon or feast of the ingathering. 21-24 September. A sort of pagan thanksgiving, if you will, in honor of the fruits of the earth and a recognition to share them to secure blessings throughout the coming winter months.**

 **Samhain: a celebration of the lived of those who have passed on.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello again folks! So holy moley, this chapter is so long, I had to break it in two. There's a mini chapter coming up here (maybe even today, if I get my ass in gear) that will round it out. Enjoy!**

 **Grovek26: ah yes, the anxiety of schemes upon schemes, and plans in plans! Muahaha! Hopefully I can keep you piqued through all the political stuff in the chapters to come!**

 **Pgoodrichboggs: She's special lady, but Riddle isn't necessarily all that fond of her… But you'll see soon!**

 **KyloRen'sgirl213: I'm glad you are loving it! I'm investing in developing this as much as possible without it droning.**

 **I'm not sure if y'all want me to keep warning for any triggers, but I will regardless. I hate spoilers personally, but FYI, mentions of harm against women. Also, some horror and gore. And even terror.**

 **Chapter 14**

Even though her eyes were shut, the light of morning persisted behind her eyelids, flooding her vision with brightness. She focused on her inhalation, followed by a controlled exhale. Soon the warmth of the sun would be a dwindled commodity, and she committed to seek it whenever possible before the seasons shifted, and the driving snows would come again.

If the circumstances were normal and it was a typical day, the library would have seen Ursa occupied with a book, or studying ancient scrolls. Anything she could get her hands on, she used to further her knowledge base and bolster her intellect. She was blessed with the privilege of freedom as the Lady of the House to learn whatever her heart desired, and she whimsically chased anything she felt of interest.

In spite of her lack of restrictions, this day was not what felt like a normal day. Not at all. Despite the beauty of the day, and her peaceful surroundings, Ursa felt _burdened._ The emotion sat heavily in her core, as though residence had been taken up within her, the weight growing roots in her very soul. She felt troubled and tired.

There was so much confusion within her thoughts that it overpowered anything else she tried to pay focus to. It was maddening and distracting at a time that she felt she could ill-afford it. She sighed in frustration, trying once again to maintain her breath as she tried to make sense of what had happened with her husband only days prior.

From the first moment Ursa had lain eyes on him, Loren Gresham's wildness had drawn her to him. The way he'd worn his hair long, and unbound and how it lacked order and whispered defiance to convention. His fierce brown eyes and masculine brows brought to life his expressions and mannerisms that had been so cavalier, yet sincerity had existed there beneath the surface. Not yet bound to his Dragon at the time, he was still a fierce man even in those days of his youth; his lessons of wisdom had yet to be experienced. But he had been so kind.

That innate wildness had never scared her before, never given her reason to shrink back from him. In their years of marriage, in rows or disagreements, or stubborn unwillingness to back down lest they be proven wrong; the Lord had nary once done so much as _breathed_ aggressively to her. He was the paragon of control, in all matters. Wise and patient, guiding and confident.

Her reconciliation of the man she _knew,_ the man whose hand in marriage she had taken happily, and children she had borne joyfully, was woefully unbalanced.

The residual marks of palms and fingertips in the flesh of Ursa's soft shoulders spoke of a very different man indeed. Even now, though her eyes were closed, she had committed to memory what the sight of handprints looked like on her body. And despite the years of bliss and comfort she recalled when she considered the years as a wife, and Lady, Ursa Gresham was livid.

She rolled the feeling around in her mind, as though it was a great wave she could control, though she was the great moon and she could push and pull at the tides. _How dare this man lay a hand to her? How dare he allow himself to succumb to cause harm upon someone he loved?_ Her mind was raging in wake of this event. _Yet I let him touch me as though I loved him, and wanted him._ The memory of her own reaction to the sudden change in tempo had been disturbing to say the least. The shock and terror of it didn't allow her to think clearly, just to accept the placations he paid her as a soothing balm for the injury.

In truth, it wasn't uncommon for a Lord to lay a hand on his wife. More disturbingly it was an occurrence that was only discussed between the familial ranks of women, mostly in hushed tones with light weeping, and comforting embraces. Words of assurance and support, and whisperings she'd heard her mother's sisters make when they thought themselves safe.

Ursa was lucky in her marriage to have been made as a love match, and not a political alliance, but she'd been blind to Loren's shortcomings all her married life. His propensity over the years to let his tempter lose had become more and more prevalent.

The Lady of the House straightened her back, and opened her eyes. Looking forward at nothing specific as her mind worked over her resolve. The sands of time were trickling away, and she had tasks to attend. As she rose from her seat and straightened her gown, sleeves, and mechanically smoothed her hair, the matron of the House steeled her features. She would not be complacent in his treatment of her. Her previous passivity in his overtures notwithstanding, she was in control of her person. She would control her emotions, and delineate over them as time allowed. But she would be damned if she allowed herself to show resignation to Loren's actions.

Between the rigors of dueling in the mornings, and hours-long rides before dinner, Theodore could feel the wear in his body most acutely. From the first stirring of his body each day, his muscles reminded him that his previous day's activities were none too gentle, and by the time he returned to his room to consider a bath, they wailed to be allowed reprieve.

As the Warlock Black had said many times, "The pain will change you, you only have to be patient." Theodore wasn't completely certain what he meant by that, but from the bedraggled expression that his fellow students wore, he was comforted by the knowledge that he wasn't the only one who was suffering.

Theodore would have imagined that the Gresham siblings would have been spared the brutish schedule, seeing as how they had already received training and tutelage from the Master Warlock previously. It seemed instead in the face of a larger pool of pupils that Master Black chose a pointedly more sadistic regimen now that he was influencing all four of them.

Unlike when Draco and Theodore had just arrived at Gresham House, both Tyt'o and Hermione found themselves slacker in adjourning to the great hall immediately following breakfast. Whereas before they would have tripped over the other in a race to be the first to arrive.

Most perturbingly, sweat trickled down Theodore's forehead, and the sound of Master Blacks voice barking commands broke through his train of thought. "Swing harder Nott. _Feel_ the magic, concentrate harder when you build you shield. Draw it from the well of your soul! Honestly, boy, how can you expect to hold your own in a proper duel if you're occupied with being pelted left and right?!" Sirius shook his head disapprovingly at Theodore, and he turned to face Tyt'o again.

Tyt'o looked just as worked over. His light, long hair was moist with perspiration and his breaths slightly ragged. The two faced off again, engaging in fierce offensives in an attempt to best the other again. Sirius nodded to the pair and returned his attentions to Hermione and Draco, who stood apart from each other locked in concentration. Each participant throwing spells at the other without hesitation. Some would land, some would deflect.

Hermione hissed once as a wildfire of welts landed on her neck and she faltered, steeling another strike on her opponent by using a sudden gust of winds to cause him to lose his footing. Sirius circled the pair at a distance, careful to watch their volleys of missed magical attacks as he studied their shortcomings.

Without any preamble or announcement, the large wooden door to the hall swung open unceremoniously. With his back to it, Sirius paid it little mind as he focused, figuring that the presence entering was that or Ursa Gresham, who was the most likely to entertain watching the lesson.

The Lady of the House had often been a fixture at lessons in the previous year as well. Sometimes she would sit and watch, sometimes she would excuse herself after a brief time to attend her duties as the Lady of the House. But more often than not it was a pretty reasonable assumption she would be present for at least some of the lesson. The only exception to this was this stint in particular, it seemed.

After the first lesson, Ursa had not returned to the Hall, and the group had not seen her again until dinner. When they saw her, she was quiet and asked too-few questions of her children and two wards to be normal for her natural curiosity and interests in the education being imparted. The morning following, she had exited the small breakfast hall much quicker than her Lord, and following several supported reasons as to why she could not attend, she was unseen until the lesson had been all but over that day.

Overall, her person had been almost a nonentity in the presence of Sirius Black. While Sirius himself hadn't dwelled on it, Theodore Nott had most definitely noted the change. Having almost no other female company in his own home, the proximity of both Ursa, and even Hermione, had entrenched in him a sort of hyper-awareness of the two of them.

Though the pupils were engaged and focused and none of them turned to observe, into the room strode the solid and stocky form of one Rune Mora. The woman's brown hair was parted conservatively and it's length wrapped in a long cord down the middle of her back, but was peppered in a few places with strands of white that she didn't bother to waste magic to color back. Her brown and blue leather coat was in the style of what a man would wear albeit tailored to fit her exactly. Paired it with breeches and boots she looked everything the serious instructor should.

Her stride was shaped with purpose and her gait lacked any sort of pretense. One might even go so far as to considerer it a march if one were to scrutinize it further. Her fine boots made no sounds on the stone of the floor as she approached the Warlock from behind.

Sirius Black had ceased his pacing and stood focused as the dueling pairs started to wind down, so when the figure of Rune Mora appeared beside him, Sirius flinched instinctively.

"Bit edgy aren't you Black?" She teased, placing her hands behind her back and straightening herself at her painfully average height as much as she was able, though in a way to make it seem like she was straightening her posture. Sirius scoffed, trying to recover from her surprise upon him.

"Hardly. Mora." He hedged back to her, emphasizing her own familial name as she had his own, and she smirked knowingly and turned herself to the four youngsters.

"Bit of déjà vu returning to this House so soon, isn't it?" She ventured and Sirius nodded.

"Aye, truly." He agreed, and Rune sighed.

"Wind them down then. I'm going to steal them away for the rest of the morning." Sirius shot her a look of incredulity.

"Now see here, _Mora,_ I'm in the middle of a series of lessons." He gestured to the four students, whom Sirius and Rune had stopped observing. "These conventions must be maintained to ensure that the forms are mastered." Rune clucked her tongue and Sirius and shook her head with a smirk.

"Be that as it may, Lammas approaches." She countered with some measure of finality on the topic, and Sirius deflated. _Damn._ His pesty oppugner had a valid point: as the summer was winding down, the magic imbued by the presence of Dragons and the onset of hatching eggs _changed_ how magics flowed within their users. It became easier to channel the magic into certain rituals and meditations.

And Rune Mora would know this unequivocally, as she was one of the only remaining actively-practicing Necromancers that walked the lands. Sirius' bluff was called, and they both knew it. He flung his hands up momentarily. "Fine!" he exclaimed in exacerbation. "Take control of this pounce of kittens and return them to me tomorrow-" She nodded, moving to leave her station and approach the group of students –who by this point had stopped and begun observing the instructors in various levels of fatigue and confusion- When Sirius stopped her by grabbing her arm, and holding her firm. "Whole and mentally _unburdened."_ Rune Mora shot him a look of disgust as she glanced at his hand upon her person.

"I've been instructing the heirs of Houses since before you started realizing what kinds of mischief was possible within the obfuscation of a castle buttery **[1]**." She spat at him, and _yanked_ her forearm from his grasp. She made sure fix her expression so as to clarify how repudiated the contact was with her person. As the two parted ways, Rune repressed the urge to roll her shoulders at the disgust she felt and briefly toyed with sending him just the smallest of curses. _Just a wordless reminder that she was not a woman to be handled by anyone without her invitation._

Noting that four pairs of impressionable eyes were now watching her, her moment of rancor had to be stowed away for future consideration. They had absolutely bore witness to the exchange between their teachers but wisely kept commentary and questions to themselves. _That was a promising sign,_ she acknowledged. _Not all the students she taught maintained self-control._ In her mind the visages of several flame-haired scions came to mind. Particularly one pair of twins and their younger sister, who on more than one occasion caused Rune to consider the usage of corporal punishment in the form of a subtly-constructed blood rituals at the first sign of any insubordination. She smiled at the wonderfully dark ideas that floated through her mind on any given whim, silently relishing in the depths of dark knowledge she carried with her, most of which would never be imparted to any of these simpering children that stood before her.

In the ancient days, a woman with talents and knowledge such as Rune Mora, would have been placed at the side of a great King for counsel and strategy. In days such as these, with the lands divided and the Lords bickering and picking at the trivialities of trade agreements, and disputes over titles to lands, it was a far-cry indeed from the more noble beginnings of the Necromancy practices.

But nonetheless, she did have a higher degree of satisfaction in teaching the Gresham children; more so than she did most of the other pupils she'd taken on. They were respectful and studious overall, and understood that she tolerated no dissention to her authority.

Addressing the tired newcomers to her session, she raised her thick eyebrows haughtily. "Do you know who I am?" This caught Theodore and Draco a little off-guard. Having been worked quite thoroughly by Master Black not only that morning, but every day, the pair were weary and less-alert than they would be under alternate circumstances. She didn't care to give them time to respond anyway, and continued. "I the Necromancer Mora. You will refer to me as such in discussion, and address me directly as "Madam". Do you understand?" The contrast in their new Master instructor was very evident; Where Sirius Black was indeed devoted to his craft and their tutelage, he possessed a more welcoming countenance that this woman did before them.

Theodore looked her over more carefully once again; her expression was stern, and her lips were set in a line that bordered on a frown; the corners of her mouth already showing lines where evidence of its frequent occurrence could be seen. Her features overall were what could be considered appealing with her thick brows and her dark lashes. Though it was something in her lack of frippery, it seemed, that gave her an air of disinterest in showing any femininity. There were very few Necromancers anymore, and certainly none that Theodore knew of that would have been conscripted to teach any scions of the Houses of The United. While he was quite worn, Theodore couldn't help but feel invigorated by the prospect of tutelage by a Necromancer! Blood rituals, callings, and summonings were rituals that Theodore had seen his father study his entire young life!

As he silently committed to write his father again once he returned to his rooms, Theodore pondered briefly if his father knew of this particular teacher? Her name did seem a little familiar, but as she'd never attended any of his fathers allied Houses, it was impossible to say.

Draco, on the other hand, practically _gaped_ openly at the woman. _The Houses of the Guild weren't purported to have any relationships with any known Necromancers! His father had insisted on referring to the Gresham's as "such commoners" and "simpleton folk" that surely it was impossible such a highly-sought and powerful practitioner would be willing to instruct their children?_ He debated this all internally as the Madam had launched into an oratory of instruction, which had let his fellow students to listen with rapt attention.

It was not the first time since Draco had arrived at the Gresham House that he had observed a much different atmosphere that he had anticipated. This was another instance in which his father's insistences had been proven faulty: Necromancers agreeing to take on anything less than a life-bound apprentice was not a casual occurrence. Why then would the supposed "lesser" Houses within the Guild be gifted such a privilege?

From beside him, an unexpected elbow connected with his rib, though as more of a nudge than a jab, and Draco was shaken from his thoughts. Quickly seeking the source of the prodding, he was met with a stern glare from none other than _Hermione._ "Pay attention!" She hissed under her breath, and looked back to Madam Mora as she'd continued laying out her instructions for the four of them.

Draco had to hold in a chuckle; Hermione hadn't hurt him in any way, but the intentional physical contact from her was surprising. It was something he'd seen her do to her brother more than a dozen times, and it was strangely endearing. He felt warmed suddenly as the notion occurred to him that it was her token of acceptance into the fold. It was a struggle to keep a grin to form on his face; that simply wouldn't do.

Their teacher had requisitioned thick blankets from the staff before she'd entered the hall and usurped Sirius Blacks time with them, and they were brought in a tidy line of attending people, quietly arranging the items as the Necromancer had instructed: blanket folded in quarters and lain flat on the floor. Having done as instructed, they were bid away and to shut the hall door firmly upon their exit. The Necromancer followed them and secured the door with a traditional lock.

Theodore looked at the floor, and then questioningly at the other students, but before any of his fellows could react, she pointed at the floor. "Choose your seat and fold your legs comfortably. You're going to begin to calm your mind and body before we begin." Each of them took a pad and did as instructed. Rune continued onward. "In order to gain mastery of a magic, you must practice your focus and intent, but you must also learn to conquer your greatest fears." Her voice was, oddly, quite like velvet. It had taken on an even, and rich quality that it hadn't possessed before. "I want you to find a focal point, and fix on it. Clear your vision of anything but that point. Move anything of distraction to a place in your mind where you can walk away from it. Take your focal point and make it your destination in your mind."

Each pair of eyes looked out in front of them at some unseen place, as Rune had circled around behind them, drawing her forces around her easily, allowing her magic to transform her voice and calm the four that sat before her. She reached to her belt and drew a small silver knife, and raised it to her left hand. Carefully running its razor edge at the pad of her thumb, she continued to advance the summons she was performing. "Once you have cleared your mind, find the weight of your eye lids to be so heavy that for every time you blink, you cannot imagine opening them again. The weight is so great, and the desire to rest them overwhelms you."

Rune didn't need to see their faces to know that they were all blinking slowly, succumbing one-by-one to the power she called to her and cast into her spell. She continued to circle, allowing a drop of blood to fall as she completed her circle around them, and returned to her original position. _"_ Ave inferis potestatibus, et nutritii portendentes. Offero tibi sanguine pascere. Ego offerre mea potestate. Ego vocare te et fores aperire mihi. Aperi in futurum, et ut nobis concedas transitum. Per sanguinem meum, eaque ipsa Venus _."_ The very air around her drew tight with power as the spots of blood in the circle she created lit immediately as though they were each their own candle, and the room around them grew _very_ dark suddenly, as though the very natural light itself was being pushed away. Rune Mora raised her hands as she wove the spell and held it fast, focusing and steeled her power around the group and opened her magic around all of them.

 _Hermione blinked rapidly as her eyes were assaulted by a blindingly bright light on the other side of her eyelids, and she felt something soft and tickling falling across her face. Trying to adjust her vision, she rubbed her eyes, and ventured to open them. She hissed and squinted as her eyes tried to adjust, to allow her to look around her. The brightness was so intense, she struggled to focus, but slowly her vision adjusted and she looked around her. The feather-soft tickles kept wisping across her face, like tufty snowflakes and little whispers. As the severe light calmed slightly she could see that it was, indeed, as though snow was falling all around her, but she didn't feel any cold around her._

 _She looked to her surroundings, uncertain as to what she was seeing. It was too dark to be snow, she realized, and she focused instead on her feet. They were covered in this fluff of light gray that had coated everything that surrounded her, creating the landscape into hills and soft lumps everywhere she could see. As she examined further, she took a step, squinting again at the ground, and kicked at the fluff. Beneath it was earth, blackened and hot, and Hermione stood up again, holding her hands out in front of her as she watched pieces fall into her palms._

 _It wasn't snow. It was ash, and it was still smoking._

 _Hermione dropped her hands, and backed up in alarm. Fire! Her wild copper eyes searched all around her for answers to her discoveries, but she saw nothing. She heard nothing. It was so quiet, even the sounds of her breaths were booming against the din of silence._

 _A dark shadow passed over her, followed by the return of the blinding brightness. She looked up to the sky, and flying there in the leagues above her was a great Golden Dragon! She opened her mouth to cry out, and found that nothing was there to be pulled from. She shouted again and waved her arms upward to the sky. 'I'm here!' She thought. 'I'm here, don't you see me?!'_

 _The Dragon parried through the sky above in an arc to circle back, and the sky above her was suddenly rent with a jet of fire. Its heat burned her face, and she crashed down to her knees as she screamed again, feeling the flesh of her face tightening as it burned, and her nerve endings shrieked in agony. Her hot tears ran down her face sending her pain receptors into overdrive as she looked up once again, and to her absolute horror, she saw a second Dragon bearing down upon the gold that already soared above her._

 _Its massive red wings blacked out the sun, and its sheer mass rivaled that of the gold above her. Flapping furiously the gold reared up in the air to block the fire with his impenetrable scales, only to receive a whip of the red Dragons razor-barbed tail. The gold Dragon screamed in agony. The sound of the scream was deafening and it shook the ground all around her. Hermione fought with the terror within her urging her to run! Run as far away from her as you can! But she couldn't move, her fear crept over her and rooted her in place, even though her mind recoiled madly._

 _All around her then there was a hissing as wet collided with the smoldering ash, and from where she crouched, clutching her own shoulders and shaking, she peered up to see what created the sound; splatters of blood had begun littering the ground. Mere drops to a Dragon, but the masses that pelted the ground were larger than both her hands outstretched._

 _The shadow passed once again over her, and she saw the mass of gold, slack and weak, tumbling to the ground. With an explosive crash the gold Dragon hit the ground only to be covered by the still-attacking body of the great red. It's wild eyes were gleeful, and blood dripped down its craggily horned head, and the Dragon laughed as it rent the golds throat with its teeth. Its massive clawed feet gouged into the gold belly spilling waves of blood, and pinning it to the earth beneath it's similar mass._

 _Hermione screamed continuously until she had no voice remaining, only a hollow rattle as she watched the red Dragon devour the gold while it still thrashed in agony._

Rune Mora continued her circling of her students, enforcing and binding the magic spell over and over. She watched intently as each of her students, in turn, traversed through their visions before her. The Nott boy, though his eyes were closed, had waves of tears pouring down his cheeks. His body shook uncontrollably and his breaths were soft and a gentle whimper escaped his lips. "Mother…." He whispered.

 _Sunshine, and laughter. It tinkled in his ears like the ringing of a sweet bell. Theodore could feel sunshine across his face, and a light breeze as he opened his eyes. Arms wrapped around him, and enveloped him in warmth and long hair tickled at his nose. It was the color of spun gold. He felt lips press lightly, warmly, lovingly upon his forehead and he delved himself deeply into the embrace. It radiated all around him like blankets in front of a fire._

 _He never wanted this to end._

 _Her voice in his ear was soft, gentle, and was tinged with a smile. 'My beautiful Theo.' She said, striking his hair with her hand. Theodore didn't dare more, didn't dare to break contact, even to look up. He didn't need to look to know who it was._

' _Momma.' He whispered into her arms, and her hair, and her feminine hands played continuously over his hair again._

' _Oh my beautiful, beautiful boy.' Her voice was so faint, so delicate, the tone so enchanting it was like the sound made from stars falling out of the sky. But then her arms went slack, and began to fall away. Realizing they were pulling away from him, he reached for her, scrambling to try to hold onto her as she tipped back. He finally looked up, and saw the face that he had wanted to remember for all of his life, and in all of his dreams._

 _She was so beautiful. Her eyebrows were perfect bows, her lashes long and lush, and her smile brought the sun down from the sky to give it to you if you wanted it. The blue of her eyes danced as her expression of happiness reigned on her face. Theodore smiled back._

 _As her arms had loosened, and her body started leaning away from him, her smile frozen on her face and her eyes had begun to glass over. He scrambled to get a grip around her, to hold her close, but she just kept falling backward and he couldn't stop her. Theodore tried to lean over to grab her, unsure as to where she was falling, and how, but his arms grasp at nothing when he reached for her. He could see her; but her body became immaterial as it slipped away from him. Further and further she fell, her blue eyes sagging, and her smile eerily still. As she faded away he heard a sigh come from her. Deep, and rattling, as though it carried the very life from her body with it. The last of her living breath._

 _Tears sprung from his eyes as he lost her, and she slipped away completely, and Theodore was left there alone. The warmth of her embrace had left him and the cold began to slip in. Everything around him was dark now, and nothing of her love and light remained._

 _Beside him, he heard the shuddering sound of weeping, and he looked towards it. Beside him, his father Thoros sat with his head cradled in his hands as his sorrows were torn from his body. Theodore had never seen his father cry. His shoulders were bunched, and his robes distorted. From between the sobs he heard his father chant 'Calla. Oh, my sweet girl.' He drew in a rattled breath, and there was the cry of a little baby that interrupted his sobbing. He didn't look up. 'Damn you child. Gods damn you, you killed her.'_

 _Theodore stiffened and looked forward again, his own tears pouring from his eyes as he listened to the pleading and piteous sounds of an infant mewling for attention, for love and the warmth of his mother's breast. His fists were balled up in front of his mouth as the swelling of emotion tore up from within his body and was torn from his mouth as he wailed and cried; Mother,' he wrenched out. 'Mother…..'_

The Necromancers circling went on, the force of her powers controlling the augury which she had summoned. Rune willed the continued dripping of blood from her finger to strengthen the circle she supported, each drop becoming a little flickering flame once it had landed. She studied each meditating face of her students in turn while they traversed through the landscape of their fears. There was barely more noise in the room aside from breaths being taken, and the quiet padding of her soft-soled boots.

She stood to face the young heir to the House of Malfoy, and found him sitting stock-still, his breaths measured and his face impassive as he experienced his own vision. Her expression never softened as she echoed her incantation to draw him into the portents he was meant to witness.

 _Pain. Draco felt pain. He crushed his eyes together and ground his teeth together as though the grinding would take away from the rippling agony that tore through his back and shoulder. He could hear the sound of a woman screaming somewhere near him, like an echo. It was muffled and insistent._

 _He couldn't focus on the noise, all he could feel was the spasms that ripped through him, one after another, accompanied by the dull thud of an object striking a body. He could feel the muscles of his shoulder and back start to give way slightly as though their abuse had broken them down and they melted away with every strike._

 _Between blows, he felt a hand at his collar lifting him, and shaking him. 'Do you see what you make me do to you? Do you, pet?' A voice asked, menacingly, gleefully, dangerously. Draco could barely breathe through the pain, let alone make any noise. The hand shook him violently. 'How many times have I told you? How many lessons will it take?!' The voice had grown more enraged, and another blow struck him, leaving the last of his breath to pour out from him in a wincing groan. The hand let go, and he collapsed in a heap of odd-angles and throbbing pain._

 _A shuffling of clothes, and boots over stone, and the voice was at his ear, unmistakably close. So much that the heat of breath could be felt on his skin. 'How many times must you make me hurt you until you listen, my pet, hmmm? You know I only do this because you insist on defying me…' the speaking paused as Draco felt his body rouse, he face turn towards it and beyond his control a weak smile crept up from him._

' _Fuck you, Lucius.' The voice of his mother said, and a rage-filled growl barked out as another blow came down upon him, striking Draco in the side of the face. The sound of cheekbone being cracked was so loud in his head, it rung his ears to the point where little else registered now, his head was ringing._

' _Stupid, pathetic bitch.' Lucius muttered as he stood, and the sound of his footsteps softened as he walked away._

 _Draco opened his eyes slightly, though they were swollen to the point where it caused him great difficulty. From where he lay, the slight of his crumpled hands was all he could focus on. Though, instead of the wiry forearms and masculine fingers he was familiar with, there were delicate and pale hands, with longer, albeit mostly broken fingernails. Dirt, and blood was on them, and his sleeves went past his wrists into a point. They were a woman's hands. Draco flexed them, and witnessed as the womanly grip opened and closed as he commanded it._

 _He looked around as much as his eyes allowed him, fighting the pressure behind his eyeballs, and the force of his eyelids that was warring with him to keep them open. Sprawled around where his face was lain, was long blond hair, straight and silky. He'd know that hair anywhere; it was the hair of his mother._

From where Rune stood she noted his body had twitched and flinched, but strangely his breath maintained an even pace. She moved on around her circle one final time, squeezing her flesh to produce more drops of blood as she walked the final lap and incanting in her mind to draw one final vision forth to complete the ritual. Her wound had begun to coagulate, so she pressed more to open it up again, unaffected by the little stab of pain in her hand.

Sitting taller that the other three students, Tyt'o Gresham's forehead had broken out in a sweat. A few of the heavier drops had formed thick beads and had dripped down his face as he gasped as though he was going to shout. Rune paused and considered this; the visions she had conjured would be strong indeed, but not so much that a mere student would be able to transcend the boundaries. As Tyt'o's face calmed and his breath slower, she felt a smug satisfaction within.

 _Ursa was clutching onto Hermione as she glared menacingly at a tall man that Tyt'o didn't recognize, but wore dark well-tailored clothing. His fine jacket, breeches and boots spoke of his Lordly station, and the contrast of his long blond hair that was bound at the back of his neck was identical to that of Draco Malfoy's. 'You'll have to kill me first, you son of a bitch.' His mother hissed out at the man, and he chuckled at her._

' _Oh my dear, you make it sound like it would be difficult.' The man sneered, and touched Hermione on the shoulder with his index finger, running it down her arm suggestively. Ursa ripped Hermione farther away from him, closer into her arms and moved to place her own body between them. Instinctively Tyt'o tried to move forward to engage the man, but found suddenly that his arms were bound behind him tightly, and someone held him fast from behind._

' _Watch yourself, pup.' The voice of Draco Malfoy growled into his ear from behind him. 'Father has them well in hand now, no need to trouble yourself.' Tyt'o could hear the smile on Draco's face, but kept himself glued on his mother and sister. Ursa continued to face down the blond lord._

' _By all the Gods, Lucius, you won't be taking her anywhere!' Ursa insisted, and the name she'd spoken to laughed with amusement. 'To hell with your contract!'_

' _Oh, dear Lady, I think you'll find that not only do I have the upper hand here, but in the completely legally binding sense, she belongs to use now.' With a swift motion, Lucius reached his palm backward and landed an open palm across Ursa's face with resounding echo of flesh-on-flash, the force of which caused her to stagger, and with the same fluidity Lucius ripped Hermione out of Ursa's arms._

 _Trying to round on him, Ursa lunged at her daughter, only to be met with Lucius' open-palm as he used his magic to send her flying backward through the air with a full this. She did not get up. Hermione struggling against him. 'You bastard!' she screamed. 'No! Mother! Please!' Lucius leaned into the crook of her neck as he crushed her into him from behind, and he breathed in deeply._

' _Such a fiery spirit you have, little one.' He mused, and Hermione tried to reach back to him, clawing with her fingers and spitting in anger as she raged trying to be free. Lucius shook her, hard, and plucked her off her feet against his body tightening his arms around her, trapping her arms. 'Now, now, little one. That's no way to treat your future father-in-law, is it, now?' He hummed, keeping his arms tight across her chest and sliding one of them toward her stomach, causing Hermione to fight harder. 'Ah, ah ah!' He admonished. 'If you can't behave, I'll have to punish you.' He chuckled darkly._

 _From behind him, Tyt'o could only feel Draco's breath as it hitched a little as his father pawed at Hermione, nuzzling his mouth into her neck. He growled low at Draco 'Do something, you prick.' Draco sniggered._

' _Would you like me to take his place then, eh pup?' He asked and Tyt'o snarled back at him. Lucius continued to hold Hermione as she tried to wriggle from his grasp, the body of their mother several feet away lay still, her chest moving gently. Tyt'o watched his sister as tears had begun to fall from her eyes as Lucius worked at her belt from behind her with his free arm. His intentions were very clear now, and Tyt'o could do nothing to save her._

Having completed her final course around her students, Rune had wrapped her finger in a cloth square from her person and closed her summons with a finalizing incantation. As she did so, the light that naturally graced the Hall breathed anew and restored a more cheery atmosphere around them. "Evigilare faciatis." She murmured.

From the row in front of her, the four seemed to liven moderately as several deep, gasping breaths were heard. Tyt'o and Theodore both looked away immediately as they discreetly wiped at their eyes in an attempt to obscure their years from the others.

Hermione remained unpacking, and pale. As did Draco, who wouldn't meet Rune's eyes.

The Necromancer drew in a cleansing breath and clap her hands behind her back. "It seems there is quite a bit of fear in you. Fear causes hesitations and can lead to weakness. Uncertainty." She nodded to the group who still say before her, composing themselves. "Tomorrow we're going to start our work on harnessing those fears that we might use them, and bend them."

From in front of her, reach of her students in turn felt a twist inside them, realizing they were going to have to relive what horrors they'd just seen. Mayhap several more times. That prospect did not seem enticing.

 **A/N:**

 **[1] – Buttery –** A buttery was a service room in a castle in which barrels, bottles or butts of alcoholic drink were served. It was also an area where general alcohols would have been stored, though not always right next to a hall. Though sources tend to place it as a pre-serving area to any great hall where staff and servants would prepare wine and drink to a lord and guests. In this capacity, it's a replacement for the phrase "broom closet". Because honestly I don't think a broom closet fits terribly accurately with the time period.

 **This is the English to Latin translation, so I'm sure it's not going to be exact (I used google translation like a mega-noob):**

Hail to the powers of the underworld

And the bringers of portent

I offer you my blood for you to feast upon

I offer you my power

I call for you to open the doors to me

Open the future and let us pass within

By my blood this spell be spun.

 **evigilare faciatis** = awaken


	15. Chapter 15

**Howdy everyone! Super excited to pick up some new readers! Can't lie: it totally makes me were more.**

 **This was supposed to be a half chapter, since the LAST chapter was SO ridiculous! But then it became a whole thing too. Yikes.**

 **Pgoodrichboggs – Thank you for your review. I love your impressions on each chapter, and you're so perceptive about the little nuances and easter eggs I'm weaving!**

 **Rune is going to be super brutal on these four as time goes on. Once I round back to the other participants in the story Narcissa/Tanner will get some more light shed on it. I think there's a certain level of naiveté with Hermione in how her fears come to light: She's sheltered, so she doesn't have much concept of what kinds of horrors might lie in wait for she should Lucius get ahold of her, but remember that what Tyt'o saw was what he was afraid of specifically; it doesn't meant that it would really be the case. Tyt'o is coming to a point in his life where the wool is falling away from his eyes, and the realities of the conflicts are becoming clearer.**

 **Chapter 15**

Tyt'o was shaking. His copper eyes focusing on his lap as the Necromancer paced back and forth before their seated troupe. The feeling of helplessness that he'd been drowning in through his vision was still all-too-real to him, and hadn't faded even though his eyes had opened.

Beside him, Hermione had raised her head to watch their teacher as she'd continued on in her speech about why these specific visions were shown to them, and some of the reasons for their significance. She had not asked for any of them to share with her, or aloud, what they had seen, but somehow Tyt'o knew she had seen what they had experienced. It was the way she looked at each of them, how her eyes had pierced into his and scooped out the images that were so raw and unsettling.

He chanced a glance beyond his sister, to Draco, whose lack of action, and sickening sentiments still echoed in his memory. Looking at him made Tyt'o want to leap out the blanket he still sat on and pummel his fist into his impassive and perfect face. The images of his sister struggling to free herself as his repulsive father had took hold of him caused a wave of revulsion and nausea to rise up from his belly like a tidal wave, and he fought to keep from a physical shudder, lest it alert the Necromancer. She seemed none too tolerant to disturbances as she lectured, given her demeanor.

And his mother…. Tyt'o closed his eyes a moment longer than a blink. How her body had been thrown with the force of Lucius's magic, and lay there unconscious, unable to fight back anymore. Both of them had been overpowered so quickly, which was unusual given how capable the two of them were, both magically, but physically. He felt so much shame that he had been unable to fight back.

As Rune Mora wound down her final commentary about the nature of the spell she had cast, and why she had chosen that particular calling, she'd focused on him as she cocked her head, catching his attention.

"I'm sorry, Tyt'o, am I interrupting some train of thought you're chasing?" Tyt'o felt a hot flush raise up his neck as his eyes tore away from Draco and back to his teacher.

"My apologies, Madam." He murmured, and focused on her. She nodded.

"I only instruct serious and focused students, young Gresham." She admonished. "Perhaps you are as of yet unready to receive my teachings? Perhaps you would prefer to wait another year?" Hermione's head whipped over to look at him, her eyes wide and furious. Tyt'o didn't dare to look back at her, instead keeping his gaze to Rune's as her blue eyes calculated over him, challenged him to make a snide remark. He did nothing but avert his eyes momentarily.

"No madam. Your lessons are too important, and my rudeness is inexcusable. Please accept my apology." Rune only nodded her agreement.

"I don't have time for daydreamers, young man, and I will not entertain empty-headed musings while you are in my presence." She continued her pacing once more, and Tyt'o resentfully followed her with his eyes. No one said anything, nor looked at him, too afraid to be scrutinized and lashed at with her barbarous approach. "I think this will be all we need for today. See to it you are here following breakfast tomorrow." She concluded, and pivoted on her heel to exit the hall without any further commentary.

The four pupils were left a little dumb-struck following her abrupt conclusion of their instruction. Even though the Gresham's looked at each other, and then to Draco and Theodore, no one spoke at first. The first one to break the silence was Hermione. "Mayhap time to leave, then?" Her voice was a little soft, and broke just slightly at the last word. None of the boys voiced anything directly, they just nodded, a few grunts were made as they all stood up.

Raising quickly, Tyt'o made short order of leaving the Hall behind as quickly as he could, which included leaving Hermione behind without him. She watched him stalk out of the Hall quickly but didn't call out to him. If his vision was as disturbing and horrific as hers was, then she could sympathize with why he wouldn't want to speak with her.

Following the exit of first their instructor, and then Tyt'o, the great Hall doors were left open and a few House staff walked dutifully inside to collect the blankets used in the exercise. Hermione picker hers up and handed it to a woman who bowed before her mistress. "Thank you very much." Hermione told her, to which a quiet "M'lady." Was heard in from the woman.

Hermione felt awkward standing there with just Draco and Theodore, and in an uncharacteristically insecure move, she rubbed her elbow with her opposite hand as she skittishly met their eyes. "Well then," She started. "See you all at dinner." And she as well turned to leave.

Watching her walk out of the hall, arms now wrapped around herself and a little hunched as though she were hugging her own body. It was unnerving to Draco to see her so insecure as she walked away from them, and so unwilling to talk. Not specifically that he had anything in mind to speak of, but it was clear what she had experienced had effect on her, just as his own vision had an effect for him.

Glancing to Theodore, with an expression that looked a little pained, he looked back to the direction Hermione was swiftly walking, and took off after her.

Alone in the great Hall with nothing but the House staff who were making quick work of the few things they had to retrieve and rearrange, Theodore was overcome with how lost he felt. Having experienced the amount of joy and warmth in his meditation had felt uncannily comforting, and unlike anything he'd ever been part of in his young like.

Had that really, in fact, been his mother? She had died so young, and Theodore had never known her, never heard her voice or touched her hair. But he had known in that vision! Instinctively he had known that beautiful woman to be his mother, the one person he had longed to meet for his whole life. The one person, it seemed, that his father had loved wholly and entirely.

Theodore flinched as he felt a wet trail escape down his cheek, and his gaze fell to his feet. As he blinked the tear was followed by more droplets that ran to his chin before swelling and plunging to the ground below.

His father had never really wanted him, had he? A forcible choke bubbled out of him as he felt a sob rip from his throat without his consent, and he reached up to wipe away the evidence of his weakness from his cheeks, only to be met with the apprehensive face of Ursa Gresham.

Theodore recoiled in shock, with a yelp and Ursa held up her hands. "Oh Theodore!" She exclaimed. "I beg pardon, I didn't mean to surprise you." His heart was racing in his chest and she lowered her hands to her side, and gave him a little smile, entreating him with her head as she bowed it a little to him. "Be you well?" she inquired, gently, changing her mind and touching his arm quite softly. His face contorted almost unnoticeably in pain, but he said nothing. His eyes were watery with the tears he'd been shedding.

"I know the Madam's lessons can be-" She paused. "Quite arduous. Especially the first time." Her hand was gentle, and lay only barely on his arm, the touch entirely tentative. Theodore started collecting himself, refusing adamantly to wipe at his face; such a childish gesture it would be to acknowledge that he'd wept openly, without decorum, in her families Great Hall.

Ursa's bronze eyes searched his face continuously. What had he seen that had caused him to break down so completely, with such vulnerability? She questioned.

Theodore could barely stand to look at her, he felt such shame at his show of frailty. Crying over a woman he'd never even met? Was he the son of a great House, or a beggar boy in the street? His father would have had him whipped over his knee to see the impotence of his own flesh and blood.

The young Nott scion straightened himself and shook his head. "No more than what I'm used to. Simply caught a little off-guard." He said, trying to add in a little chuckle at the end, but ended up sniffing just slightly. Ursa's smile became sad.

"Theodore," she implored carefully. "You need not impart to me what you saw, but know that, should you need to speak with anyone, I am happy to lend you my ear." Ursa tried to imbue her offering with warmth, and despite the tumultuous events in the last days and how it had left her out of sorts, she felt the offering a trifle paltry as soon as she had made it, despite its sincerity.

It seemed though that her intent was writ across her face, for Theodore softened a moment. "Th- Thank you my Lady." Theodore gingerly covered her hand with his own. "You've been nothing but kind to me from the first time you laid eyes upon me." Ursa felt herself smile a little at the show of warmth he offered. "I've never been welcomed into another House. Kindness isn't something I- I expected." He cleared his throat a little, nervously darting his eyes to her. Her smile had reached them again, reminiscent of how she normally appeared.

"I am most happy to offer welcome you, Theodore." And he found himself smiling slightly as she did. The warmth of her eyes drawing the coldness from within him.

"Theo, my Lady." He whispered. "I would have you call me Theo."

It was Ursa this time who felt her smile broaden further, and she nodded slightly. "Then Theo it is." She squeezed his arm just slightly in affirmation, and as she would if it were Tyt'o she were speaking to. With the affection a mother paid her child, though he was unquestionably not her own.

Theo's blue eyes no longer darted away nervously from hers. He cleared his throat just slightly, and raised his elbow to her courteously. "May I walk with you then, my Lady?" he asked, and she lay her hand at his forearm and curtseyed just a fraction.

"But of course."

Draco sped up to make sure he didn't lose sight of Hermione, though he had not called out to her either so as not to call attention around them. As he'd rushed the doors of the Great Hall, he caught sight of her hurrying along to what he assumed was some passage to escape the House, and returned to his half-running pace.

Her figure was clear to him as he got nearer, though he noted that she did not turn around to see whom it was that pursued her. He caught up to her only slightly winded, and realized as he'd reached her side he had no idea what he was supposed to say.

She slowed slightly as he walked beside her, catching the movement of his jaw from the corner of her eye as he opened it once to speak, but shut it promptly. She led him along silently, still ruminating over the confusing sights she'd experienced while under the Necromancers enchantments.

They reached an obscured stairway, which forced him to abdicate his presence at her side and fall back behind her. Though still keeping pace with her, he had no real notion of where she was taking him, and she certainly didn't give up any information for her part either.

He continued to dog her as she continued on her travel through corridors and another stairwell down, finally reaching a lower, almost cellar-like level that he was woefully unfamiliar with when she suddenly stopped and faced him. "What do you need, sir?" She demanded. "Why are you following me so intently?" Draco had come to a skidding halt to avoid colliding with her, and he stammered momentarily, unsure as to what he could supply.

"D-D Dragons." He stuttered out quickly, and cursed himself silently, hoping the internal admonishment wouldn't make it across his face. She quirked an eyebrow in question.

"Dragons." she repeated. "What about them?"

Draco really started floundering then; he hadn't come up with any reason as he'd followed her, and that one just occurred to him when she'd asked. "I was er, hoping you'd be able to tell me tales of them?" He tried, lamely.

"What, like folklore?" She questioned, and scoffed. "Go find the library and seek a book in there. I've no time to tell children's tales today." Hermione turned to leave without anything else to say, and he touched her arm lightly, carefully even, and she paused and sighed with exacerbation.

"Not tales for children." He insisted. "Real Dragons. Your Dragons. I want to know more about your Dragons." He explained. From where she stood, she saw the plea in his expression, though she wasn't certain felt any sincerity behind it. She paused before responding, scrutinizing him carefully, measuring him up.

"Alright then," she offered tentatively. "What specifically are you interested in?" Draco visibly relaxed and grinned.

"Well first, how does a man come to ride a Dragon?" Hermione instantly bristled and made to open her mouth with a rebuke. "A person!" He corrected. "How does a person, man or woman come to ride a Dragon?" The correction to his automotive question seemed to mollify her slightly and she pondered a moment before wiggling her nose and giving a jerk to her head.

"Walk with me then while I tell you. I don't want to be standing here in the damp gaggling over Dragon Lore." Draco smiled.

"So there is Dragon Lore?" he asked, and Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Of course there is. How could there not be?"

"Well when you said you'd no time for children's tales I assumed you meant-" Hermione shook her head and cut him off.

"Never mind that." She said quickly. "Dragon riders are chosen by the Dragon Sires when the babies hatch." She supplied.

"So when does the hatching happen?" He queried, and she rolled her eyes again.

"There's….. A number of steps before that. It's not so entirely simple. I'm-" she paused. "I'm really just going to have to start at the beginning…" she anxiously started chewing her thumb as she finished her sentence, considering her thoughts with care. Hermione glanced around as they continued to walk. "Are you certain you want to hear this from me?"

It hadn't occurred to Draco that perhaps Hermione wouldn't interested in telling him. But the prospect of approaching her brother Tyt'o or the Lady Gresham directly felt distinctly less….. Feasible. Let alone comfortable. The word mulled over in his mind briefly as he considered her in earnest before voicing his reply. Her copper eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon him. It was a color he'd never seen before, and the tone was both fiery and inviting. He tore his gaze away so as not to be considered gaping.

"Why not you?" He supplied. "Certainly you know as much as any of the House the intricacies of your Dragons?" She did nod an agreement to that statement; the Gresham's did know quite a bit of Dragons. And not only just their own…. But that was enlightenment for some other time, if at all.

"Very well." She said hesitantly, removed her thumb from her mouth and took a breath as she modified her pace down from a brisk walk to a stroll. "Our House forebear struck a covenant with a great Gold Dragon of old that he later called 'The Elder'. It was not the first Dragon ever ridden, but the first for our House." She detailed. Draco considered her a moment.

"How did he find him, I wonder?" Hermione winced. Clever. _Of course he would ask that._ She swallowed and her voice quieted a degree.

"He stole an egg when its Dragon Sires were away eating." Draco looked impressed momentarily.

"So then, why is it we're breaking our backs and minds with all this training? Why wouldn't we all just go steal an egg then?" It was an honest question; why put in all this work and sacrifice? Wouldn't it just be easier to lift an egg out of a nest and be done with it? Hermione had the good sense to look properly appalled at his question.

"The Dragon sires returned unto his nest to find an egg missing, and tracked them to the House. They would have burned it down to the foundations, then burned it still until the rocks were melted. Had it not been that the egg hatched as he returned home they would have done it, but the Dragon sire found him with the Dragon chick, and it clung to him in fear of its own mother and father. The pair softened, seeing their little wyrm being so protected by the lad that they made him swear upon his magic a righteous oath, committing the line of his people to protecting and serving with the Dragon from that point forward. But for his treachery and theft they demanded that for one of their offspring, that the young man would pledge one of his own to them in turn. Though he had none yet to pledge, he agreed blindly not knowing what it was he had wrought upon his line in truth."

"The gold Dragons left him with only the Dragon, small though it was, he was still the size of a colt! True to his word, he nurtured the Dragon; taught him languages and literature, philosophy and astronomy. The two were, as time marched on, quite well fitted for the other. But as my ancestor grew into a man, so then did the Dragon come into his musk. When the time came for my forbear to choose a wife, it was such that so too did the Dragon desire a mate of his own."

"Our founder chose a woman of great strength, and modest of face. From a fine House she was, but one not considered a great beauty, as was the common trait searched for. Thought she was wise, and she was cunning. My founder and his Dragon were enamored of her from the day that she arrived to them from her own House, and it spurned The Elder to wish to leave in search of his own counterpart. And so, as our founder wed and bed his new wife, The Elder determined that he too should seek ardor of his own."

"But my founder's wife was not willing to let her Lord Husband leave her as a newlywed woman. Instead she demanded to be given leave to join them. Though her request was audacious and improper, it fortified our ancestors love for her, and they set into the wilds in search of a Dragon mate for his companion."

Hermione had taken pause, looking to Draco for a sign of what he made of the story she told. He'd been so engrossed with the tale that he'd said nothing, not even nodding as he walked beside her. He hadn't even acknowledged that they'd stopped walking, and now stood in what appeared to be an open alcove the size of a cathedral that had access to both the underside of the castle, and the open air to freedom beyond. Impatiently, Draco motioned to her.

"And? Where did they go? What did they find?" he asked, and Hermione chuckled.

"There's plenty stories yet, Lord Malfoy." She said happily, relieved that he was eager for more and that her rambling hadn't bored him. His gray eyes were excited and danced.

Draco looked around them. "Where have we ended up?"

"Before the Dragons left, this is where they would roost. As long as they weather was fair." She conceded. "They would lay here together, confabulating the musings of Dragons, I guess." She trailed off.

"Do you miss them, being gone as they are?" Dracon asked gently, and Hermione sighed sharply as his question.

"Every day." She admitted. "I can barely stand it with them gone. It feels….. So empty and cold without them here. I can't hear the hum anymore either." Draco cocked his head to the side.

"The 'hum'? What's that?"

Her change in expression made the copper of her eyes appear so wistful, but Draco couldn't be sure it that was it, or it was how he'd interpreted it. "The hum is….." she gestured feebly. "It's a connection to the Dragons. Like a song they sing to us, only we feel it inside us." She placed her palm to her sternum and pressed there like she was feeling for something she couldn't find. "All the Gresham's feel this with the Dragons, and when they are gone," her eyebrows raised slightly, and her eyes got watery before she blinked a few times. Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "It's like we're missing some part of ourselves." Hermione swallowed, and her breath had slowed. She allowed her eyes to close for a moment before she opened them to return her attention to Draco.

She hadn't really confided in anyone before; all the people she knew intimately she was related to directly by blood. She found herself shaking suddenly; nervously or excitedly, she couldn't determine. Boldly, Draco reached out gently, and softly whispered his fingers over hers, her eyes caught by the suddenness of it, and she looked from her hand up to him. His gray eyes met hers and held her there.

Draco tentatively took her hand in his, and she made no protest, though her heart had begun to beat so fast she was certain if it had wings she would have floated away on the wind. As they stood there together, the air of the afternoon gusting through the cavernous space around them, they considered each other. Along the air the faint tingling, similar to what had danced all around them at the falls in the forest, seemed to linger all around. Though they had stood across from the other many times in practices, it was as though they were seeing the other, truly, for the first time. As they memorized the shapes of each other's faces, and the lines that comprised the others features. It could have been moments, or hours, neither was sure, when Draco finally whispered. "Thank you for bringing me here."

Hermione felt her face break into a smile she couldn't contain, and she lifted her free hand to conceal her mouth without thinking. Draco intercepted her hand as it tried to cover her face, now taking both of hers in his own, still searching her eyes with his. 

It was a wonderment, just then, as the faint magic lingering danced all around them. Like little tingling whispers that played across the skin and danced whimsically though the air.

"You're welcome." She said, a little more breathlessly than she'd intended, and he smiled to her. The gesture somehow caused a cathartic reaction to the nervousness she felt, and she giggled a little, giving him cause for a chuckle. Their merriment filled the grotto with a cacophony of their demure delight.

"Come then," He gestured, and let lose one of her hands, but not the other. "Tell me more of your Dragons and ancestors." He entreated. Hermione made no attempt to retrieve her other hand from his, and her smile grew mischievous.

"Nay, enough of Dragons today," She countered. "I am going to take you to the Great Stable instead!"

The echoing sound of their back-and-forth continued, though it faded somewhat as Hermione brought Draco to the wide-open entrance to their Dragons 'den' beneath the Gresham stronghold. Her voice could be heard detailing how the generations of Dragons had shaped this area with their presence and magic, and continued with little quips from childhood memories of it.

Peering from the doorway that they two had come from, Tyt'o's eyes followed the pair and the blank expression he wore grew into a scowl as he could see, plainly, how his hand held hers, and how she seemed content to leave it that way.


	16. Chapter 16

**So in the event it's not clear: All the familiar people and notions related to HP belong to the great JKR.**

 **All errors are mine, and probably because I like to write and hate to proof anything. Blech! I did just brush up a few things that I left hanging in the last chapter, which I apologize for.**

 **Pgoodrichboggs: So Dramione is pretty much my OTP, and this is my 1st time writing it, so I was SO excited to start FINALLY writing that! I'm trying to be so careful and I end up nitpicking everything so that I keep fourth-guessing everything I'm doing. Hahaha.**

 **Tyt'o is having a hard time; new faces, weird people he's not sure he can trust, possible rivals-who-could-be-friends-but-he's-not-sure. It's hard time for a guy just coming into adulthood with all sorts of testosterone and nothing to do with it. No pretty girls to show off for, no Dragons to chase (right now). Poor guy is like thoroughbred with no races to run. Plus, his mother and sister are EVERYTHING to him, and he's not totally certain his vision aren't something that will come to pass, or only COULD come to pass (stay tuned!).**

 **Your questions will be answered! All you have to do is read more! (Was my carrot-dangling subtle?)**

 **Chapter 16**

The time of the year could be measured in how the light of the sun was cast onto the Gresham House. From the way that it streamed in through the panes of glass, to how it alighted all over the books, table tops, and every piece furniture in each room that received the blessing of sunshine.

Lammas was closing in on them in a mere week, and with it the harkening of the harvest, and the series of traditional celebrations of thanks and plenty would be revered. Grain was to be brought in great volume to the House, and breads to mark the plentiful bounty would be baked as the House gathered together and marked the beginning of their many benedictions.

This would normally be a time of relief within the House: The two Gresham children had known this time of year to make a great exhalation from their parents as the summers measure of crop and grain would be writ and recorded, and the great Dragons would prepare themselves for yet another bedding-down as the winter chill would be impending.

The celebration that would be planned would be out-of-doors, the four Gresham's and their two great Dragons all together, as had been traditional since before even the birth of Tyt'o or Hermione each. It was an event that every one of them looked forward to, with fond memories of years prior.

As Lammas approached now, Loren felt within himself a great sadness that had entered himself, and he was burdened and dogged in trying to shake it. Such great plans had been laid, so many years of waiting for them to unfold and to see the light of possibility. The promises of abundance for his family were so closely tied with how this great treachery had unfolded, that it felt as though the poison in which it had wrought was slowing eking its way into Loren's very soul, turning it black with despair.

Loren tried on so many occasions to rationalize the possibilities of success, and the silver lining, knowing that at least still, his own two children would have been built up to be considerable candidates once the time arrived for them to be weighed and examined. Such an unseen variable, a veritable wild-card as it were, was the insertion of the young Lords currently living as his wards.

And now, in his carelessness and folly, he had wrought shame and terror on the one being who had held him and their children together through countless struggles and trials: his wife. Loren was encumbered within the gravity of his own weakness.

He had all but avoided his wife in any situation private, despite that when they had parted ways on that dreadful encounter within his study, they had done so following such a tumultuous conflicting coupling; twisted with post-rage passion, tainted by tears and pain.

This horror he wrought upon the woman whom he had claimed as the love of his heart, the Lady of his House, and the mother of his heirs wore desperately upon him. And yet he could not face her to supplicate her true forgiveness. He'd spent many hours already pouring over imaginary tasks and items as he hid away, embroiled in his own self-loathing.

The time had come for Loren to face the judgment of his fellow Houses within the Guild. Having sent emissaries to call for a convocation of Houses so he could address his egregious rejection of candidates he would be travelling the next morning to the end of the Gresham Lands and apparate himself to the House of Shacklebolt, where his fellow Lord would hold this assemblage, and Loren would face his penance.

Loren Gresham was busying himself with the imaginary necessity of arranging his personal papers within his study when Tyt'o arrived, knocking at the heavy wooden door. Loren's heart leapt and clenched at the same time with nervousness, and when the door opened at his permission to enter, he saw that it was merely his son. His panic faded considerably and he calmed himself. He had yet to face his wife in privacy, and in truth, he dreaded that it would need to be done before he left. Presently, he motioned his son into the room and bade him with the gesture to sit at the opposite side of his desk.

"My son, what brings you hither this afternoon? Have your lessons concluded yet for the day?" Loren began, congenially.

"Aye father, I come from lessons led by the Necromancer Mora." Loren's expression became knowing then, seeing how his son fought to keep his eye contact with his father. He could see his son bore some weight on his conscious. Rune Mora had warned both he and Ursa sternly upon returning to the House when she learned she would be taking on the new students, and whom she would be teaching. She made no bones about the fact that she would show no quarter now to them as the time drew near to their hatching, and she expected full reign to judge just how far she would push the student's individual limits. Loren and Ursa had bowed to her demand, as Mora expected they would. The trail she intimated was now shown plainly on his son's worn and worried face.

"While you are gone father, who then will stand with me to be in guard of the House while you parlay and negotiate then with the fellow Houses?" Tyt'o continued, boldly, still struggling to keep his eyes at his fathers.

The scene Tyt'o had experienced was still fresh in his mind; his senses still assailed by the sounds of his sisters struggling movements, the sound she made as she struggled against her attacker and cried as she found herself trapped and unable to fight him off. Her frustration turned terror and fright as the situation became both dire and frightening. It spurned him to audacity in the company of his father. Loren Gresham, the Lord of the House, the seeming lighthouse of hope and safety for their family. His presence was security to them all, and the prospect of him leaving them frightened Tyt'o. Having no Dragons in company to brace Tyt'o, nor anyone else save perhaps the House staff. There were very few that Tyt'o knew he could call on should any presence approach their House that was not welcome.

Even knowing that Tyt'o had been wrung through a proverbial wringer as a result of the lesson Rune Mora had devised for him, Loren brushed the question off without paying any mind to the root of it. He waved his hand dismissively. "With the young Lords here in perpetuity for training, there are no Houses that would stand to invade or threaten while I am away. My time at the convocation will be short, regardless. I'll hardly be missed."

Tyt'o found himself unsatisfied with the answer, and though his mind was fighting to rid itself of the images he'd been blighted with he fought them away and finally locked his eyes onto his fathers and leaned forward.

"Whatever the reason, father, my sister and your wife will be here without their Lord, in the company and presence of men who have no care for their wellbeing and a teacher who will not fight to protect them if needed."

Loren fought not to roll his eyes at his son. "The Warlock Black is precisely capably of showing strength when needed, and caution when required. No House would employ him if he was not worth his salt in magic." He mused.

"Then the lingering of his gazes on the females beneath this roof is not a matter that concerns you, my Lord?" Tyt'o enforced again. Loren felt the snap of his son's statement, disliking heavily that his son had picked up on the nuances of Warlock Black's infamous wandering eyes. "My sister and mothers safety are paramount to me, my Lord. I would feel much at ease knowing there were precautions in place should the need for them arise. The presence of one from one of the vassal Houses, perhaps. A member of Harben or Abildgaa-"

"There will be none of those beneath my roof." Loren cut him off sternly, but then continued, more evenly. "It is not needed, son. There will be no shows of weakness in asking an unaffiliated House to nursemaid the women-folk beneath my roof. Your mother and sister will fare as well as they would if I remained here."

Tyt'o paused and scowled a bit; He refused to reveal to his father the scene that had played out in his mindscape, and the lingering and recurring waves of disgust and rage he felt revisiting himself over it. That very vision was what drove him to press such a suggestion.

"What then, father, would the fellow Guild Houses do should we fall to siege while you are away?"

Tyt'o's question was alarming. Where had such a notion come from? While undeniably there was tension between the Houses comprising the faction of The Guild, and those of The United, there was not yet any whisperings of war or invasion. There were tensions to be sure, but no hints of violence or outright malice.

"My son, you worry over something that is not real. There are no Houses that threaten us, no roving bands of villainous pirates. And beyond that, it would take a force on-foot to reach our House to lay siege to us. Should they attempt travel in any other means they would be struck down by the Dragons as they traveled." Loren knew it was a placation, and it was clear that Tyt'o was not going to be easily dissuaded from the topic.

"Then not as nursemaids to our House, why then has the Guild never entreated Houses Harben and Abildgaard to any conclaves? Nor presented them with any invitation to one of the summer feasts? A Lammas celebration? Should we not make it a priority to try to build any relationship with another House which also rides Dragons?"

Loren had purposefully kept his son away from this particular vein of politics; Tyt'o knew nothing of the structure and relationships Gresham shared (or in this case, _didn't_ share) with the families of Abildgaard, and Harben.

The Gresham lord considered his son a moment before he crafted his response. Was it time for Tyt'o to begin involving himself in the politics of being part of The Guild? To know what it was that the Houses aligned themselves against, or because of? It was all uncertain to him, but one thing he did realize at that time; Tyt'o was becoming a man. Right before his very eyes, it seemed. While it was appropriate at this point to bring him to the convocation, it did leave Ursa and Hermione without any appointed male chaperone in the House while Loren was away, and both the Master Black and Necromancer Mora's safety while within the House was his responsibility, not the other way around.

"Son," Loren began wearily, seeing his son's tense expression, how his posture was held taught with desperation. Loren has his own frets and worries just now, and he simply didn't have the energy to discuss all the layers of political interconnectivity. "I leave early on the 'morrow, and this afternoon is not the time for such lengthy discussions. By rights, I should bring you with me to this gathering, but it is to you that I look to guard our House while I am absent."

Tyt'o leaned back in his chair, feeling defeat wash over him. His father was brushing him off. _Why was this some kind of hardship to explain to him some of the lesser dynamics of the other Houses?_ The young Gresham Lord felt his frustration peak, and he stood abruptly.

"Then I look forward to your safe return, father." He said with a curt nod of his head, and turned on his heel to exit the room, not having any interest in entertaining his father's response.

The Lord sighed as he watched his now-grown son leave in a huff. So much in their lives had changed in such a short period of time; he could no longer justify indulging his children's petty curiosities at every turn, and some matters were simply too great to be conferred with idle chatter.

Loren ached for his wife at that moment: She was a veritable pillar of consistency, and a patient woman. Perfect for these sort of diplomatic nuances. Whereas he on the other hand, lacked the same couth and polished appeasements she could deliver.

As Tyt'o Gresham exited the room and shut the door behind him, he shook his head in dissatisfaction. He knew himself to be better skilled than some with his magic, and a plenty good rider and fighter. But the safety of his House meant more to him than banking on his own vanity. He craved surety, and was offered empty platitudes in return.

"Sons of the damned," he swore under his breath. _If only the Dragons could be_ _here_. His mind toiled over the possibilities. There was no army to raise here in the Gresham lands; their sole line of defense was in fact the Dragons, and they were holed up, Gods-knew-where in the mountains, warming their nest and binding their magic all around the nest to bolster the lives which would be born in a handful of full moons.

Tyt'o found himself wishing desperately that their House had the bounty of more than just two Dragons….. _More than two Dragons!_ He realized internally, and turned to quickly find his sister. When he had left her she had been dragging the Malfoy whelp to the Grand Stables, if her words were true. Perhaps they were either there, or near there?

He broke into an ungentlemanly run through the corridors. The notion had already struck him; If they could not have their own Dragons present, then perhaps they could collude together to come up with another possibility, and if anyone in this House were to know something of how to find wild Dragons, it would be his sister!

The young Lord threw up his hands in his growing frustration. _The keep isn't even that large, and from almost anywhere you could hear Hermione's chatter._ Tyt'o raged.

He'd ran from his father's study all the way to the Grand Stable and found no sign of his sister, nor of the Malfoy son which had been last in her company. He'd come back through the keep and into the Great Hall to find no one in attendance, and no House staff to answer his questions about where she might be. Tyt'o had rushed then to her rooms and found them vacant, only to seek out his mother in hers and find them without her presence as well. Where the hell was everyone?

From the upper balcony which provided a view of the outside courts and road below beyond, he leaned on the railing dejectedly, feeling the excitement from his burst of inspiration fade. _His sister had always been near to him, in the physical sense. Being unable to find her unnerved him._ Why was it at this moment that he felt her physical distance so keenly, he wondered?

From below, the slight sound of her voice rose up to break into his reverie. "…. Of course they were raised by hand, each by their own stable hand, so they're quite used to hands all over them. But I am surprised the little filly was so welcoming of your hand. They're not usually so friendly and accepting…." Hermione's voice was clear as she and Draco walked into view. They two of them had an air of excitement between them as they walked. Their gestures were happy if somewhat frivolous.

Tyt'o found himself disapproving of what he saw below him, and rather than spy on them from above, he pushed off the railing to make haste to catch up the pair.

Draco and Hermione, unknowing that anyone was either watching, or displeased about their close-company, had set a meandering pace as they were recounting their little jaunt to the Great Stable in which Hermione had introduced Draco to a new foal by one of their prized Abraxans. Notorious for being hard to manage, and persnickety about whom they allowing in their company, the mare had proven docile and unconcerned with the interloper, and the wobbling filly had shown herself quiet receptive to Draco's curiosity of her. It had made for a magical little adventure together and they were still chatting happily about it when Tyt'o caught up to them.

He caught his sister at the shoulder, and had meant to simply catch her attention, but ended up swinging her a little heavier than he intended to. His jaunt to and from the Keep had left him more irritable than he'd realized because he spun her a little quickly.

"Wh-" Hermione sputtered as she was rudely broken from her conversation with her companion to face the scowling face of her brother. Realization broke over her face and she brightened at seeing Tyt'o again. "Oh! Brother, you won't believe what the little filly-".

"We need to talk sister." He interrupted, and Hermione stopped, startled at his seriousness.

"Oh. Of course brother." Draco could see that Tyt'o's mood was quite opposite from Hermione. Where she was excited and gesticulated excitedly, he was stern and serious. Draco took his queue, and touched Hermione's forearm.

"Lady, I thank you for this afternoon, but I think that before dinner hour I will take to my rooms. I will see you again this evening." He bowed to her and she inclined her head with a stuttering thanks as Tyt'o had gripped her opposite arm and was already tugging her away with him.

"Tyt'o there's really no need to be so pushy-" She'd started, with a little laughter to her admonishment. As her brother pulled her along with him, he lowered his voice.

"There's EVERY reason to be pushy, sister." He hissed at her, and Hermione frowned, trying to get her arm out of his grip.

"Now see here you brute, you don't have to pull so hard, and you don't have to get nasty with me over nothing." Tyt'o gripped her a little harder, and gave her a little yank. "Hey!" She exclaimed at his physical show. "Stop pulling me and tell me what your problem is!"

Tyt'o stopped and faced his sister. "My problem?" He asked. "My problem is you making friends with a boy we have no alliance to. Whose father blackmailed **our** father into repudiating the sons and daughters whom would have joined us on the pilgrimage into the mountains. A man who has threatened to claim _you_ as their prize should father refuse to let his son take claim of _our_ Dragons. My problem is that our House is infiltrated by snakes, and you're contented to have a little playmate to drag around while you play beast master."

Her brother's admonishment slapped her in the face, and her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. "How dare you speak to me like that?!" She demanded, and balled her fist up hard, and launched it into her brother's midsection. With a great "OOF!" he doubled over and released her when her punch made contact, knocking the air from him. His sister had a hell of a punch. She rubbed the place on her arm where he'd handled her, and inserted herself into his personal space, raising her finger to him. "I am your SISTER, and a Lady of this House! You will keep a civil tongue to me, or I will lay you on this floor faster than you can blink!" Her copper eyes were blazing with anger at her brother's attitude, and disrespectfulness to her.

"Draco Malfoy was nothing short of kind and gentlemanly to myself, and showed exceptional peace of person and a kind hand to our animals. And yet you paint him as a villain and wretch!" she advanced on him, by Tyt'o refused to be cowed as she railed up against him, trying to push him back with her shorter body.

"Hermione, he's been here for a few short weeks! What do you expect him to do while he's here? Start burning down the fortress and freeing all the livestock like some kind of crazed raider?! NO! The man is ingratiating himself to your person to woo you!" Hermione flinched, and waved her hand in dismissal.

"You're wrong, Tyt'o, Draco's-"

"No, Hermione. He's not a good person." Tyt'o knew where she was steering the topic, and he lowered his voice so that only she would hear him. "Do you know what vision I had when Mora threw her spell?" Hermione shook her head and frowned. "The Malfoy Lord had you. He'd taken you as his prize for himself. He hurt you, Hermione, and his son was complicit in his abuse to you." Tyt'o tried to keep his voice from breaking, but he wasn't successful, and he gripped his sister's shoulders. "That House has ill designs for us, sister," he whispered. "They mean harm to us all. They mean to be the end of us; I have seen it." She shook her head, unbelieving.

"Tyt'o, what you say is terrible." She conceded, shivering at the thought of what he implied. He hadn't said specifically, but she wasn't truly that naive. The image that her brother painted felt so opposite to the one she was building in her mind. The kindness and inquisitive nature of the young man she had spent her last hour with were so different. Could she be so blind to be ignoring signs of a man so twisted that he would allow his own father to bring direct harm upon her? Her eyes, which had wandered away from her brother as she weighed these possibilities, met his again. The twins of her own. She saw his concerns for her, she saw that he was genuine in his fear for her safety, and all their safety.

It was a fact that Draco Malfoy presented himself as gentle and kind, but her brother spoke true: She knew nothing of his true nature. Nothing of his life as a young Lord, nor of where his intent lie. But the way he had been with the animals in the stable…. Someone so cruel of countenance and hard of heart could not truly entice such an animal as one of their notoriously cautious Abraxans to himself without them sensing his malice. Could they?

"Fuck and bugger." She said as she stared straight at her brother, admitting that she was unsure as to whether or not he was right. Tyt'o nodded.

"Fuck and bugger in droved, sister." He agreed, and Hermione dropped her finger finally, and deflated her anger.

"I wish the Dragons were here now. We wouldn't be mired in this horse shit if they were." She bemoaned.

"We wouldn't be in many of the messes we are right now, if they were here." Tyt'o agreed. "Father leaves in the morning to join the fellow Houses and break with them the agreement to allow the fellow riders to take the pilgrimage to the hatching." Hermione signed and groaned at the same time. "We three will be here alone with these two sods with only the teachers and the House staff."

Hermione scoffed. "Well if they misbehave, then we'll call for Eachan and he can smash their skulls together with his meaty bear-paws." She smiled, but Tyt'o did not return her joking enthusiasm.

"Aye, sister, there is that." He said sadly, and she placed her hand on his arm, empathetically.

"I know brother. We only have ourselves." She agreed, and sighed. "I'll…." She paused. "I know how important it is to you. I'll be careful not to be alone with him again. I don't see what you see, and I don't see suspicion on him, but I will not act a fool." Tyt'o smiled sadly to her, understanding that in truth, neither of them had been given many chances to continue their relationships with friends, and once the awkwardness had faded, a little camaraderie had sprung up between the four of them. Hermione did genuinely love the company of others, and it was in her nature to be so free with how she acted, so unreserved in whom she pulled to her bosom in friendship. He felt a pang within because of it, as though he had scolded a puppy for being playful.

"If we make it to the pilgrimage, sister, all will be revealed to us if they are villains or friends." He said, trying to comfort her. She nodded, the high from her exciting jaunt with her 'friend' properly squashed and gone. When they found the Dragons and brought themselves to be judged by them, the Dragons would be able to properly sniff out their intentions, and see the minds of those who wished to become their riders. But that was months away still from now, and there was so much that could happen in that time.

"We'll be safe while father is away, Tyt'o." Hermione said, reassuring him. "It will be a short trip, and we will all be busy being abused by our Masters." Tyt'o managed a laugh at his sister's wisecrack. With Rune Mora, one could never be certain where the lesson would go and how hard it would be on you. But if their previous lesson was any barometer of what was to come: It was going to be utter hell.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:**

 **Guest: I'm sorry that the romance aspect of this story has not been happening fast enough to satisfy. I really do understand when you're looking for a specific 'something' and a story just isn't giving it to you. There will be romance in the story, I just haven't been able to rush it without it feeling forced at this point, but it is coming.**

 **Pgoodrichboggs: You rock the house with your reviews! I always look forward to your speculations and thoughts! This chapter is dedicated to YOU! I hope you enjoy it!**

 **Chapter 17**

The end of summer still graced the land in a warm and slightly balmy temperature, and the comfortable glow of the air that blew up from the south carried with it the sensation of magic, which enveloping his mind and senses comfortably with little tingling tones that rolled over his skin. Tom smiled. _He'd found it._

"And here Thoros, I doubted the extent of your academic pursuits." Tom purred to himself. "It seems I have been mistaken." The Lord Riddle's smile was either venomous or triumphant, one couldn't be entirely certain. And to think, all it took to open up Thoros Nott's mouth was a little pain and suffering as he lay on the floor until his secrets had run from him like water. With how volatile Lord Riddle could be at times, you could never be certain if he was going to pat you on the back, or stab you in the side; The smile he'd be wearing when he did either would be exactly the same, and it was the expression he'd worn as Thoros had writhed beneath the magic Tom had cast upon him.

Somewhere in the mounds of literature within the crumbling rolls of parchment and dusty tomes that Thoros had been pouring over in the last few months, he had found the location of mountains deep in the south where the last organized faction of red Dragons resided. Thinking himself ahead of the game, he'd deigned to keep it withheld in the face of having been tasked by Tom Riddle to find it.

That maneuver had proven unwise for Thoros in the end. However misguided it had been, though, Tom was unable to justify ending his life as his heir was neither positioned to ascend as the head of the House, nor was the lad equipped to fully run the full functions as the Lord of a House. It seemed Thoros' saving grace had been a technicality in the end, though Tom had still not left him in good enough shape to pick himself up off the floor once the exacted punishment had been concluded.

For all that secrecy and espionage that Thoros had worked so hard to maintain, all of it was rendered moot in the end, as Tom stood proudly overlooking the foothills of an innocuous and unassuming mountain range that lay just north of an unfriendly waste-land like desert. A no-mans' land, really. Certainly not a place that any Lord would care to lay claim to, nor would any serf, vassal, or countrymen wish to colonize independently. The land was barren and unfriendly lacking vegetation save for scrappy trees, and succulents adorned with thorns. It made a strange sort of sense, when Tom pondered it further, realizing that the lack of hospitable landscape created an environment that a Dragon might consider a kind of Shangri-La, should they wish to be solitary.

Tom Riddle focused himself on a point in front of him, which he could see clearly at the very foot of the nearly-bare rocky mountains that appeared to jut raggedly into the sky out of the clay-textured sand beneath them. The brown was tinted with the ochres of clay soil that eked into the earth of the mountains before him. Consumed by the feeling of suction inward all around him, Toms form disappeared from where he stood, and materialized at the exact spot he had focused upon.

Properly apprehensive, Tom observed his surroundings carefully. He needed to find where the Dragons were, but without getting too close too quickly. He needed an element of surprise with the option to observe from some measure of a safe distance, or his plan would never work. And thus it would put him in a high degree of danger.

Focusing again once he had scanned the area, he apparated again to his next focal point. Again, and again he would apparate, observe, and occasionally traverse the area he'd arrived to in order to seek clues as to whether or not he was close. He was reticent to use too much magic lest he alert the Dragons that he'd entered their territories. Though the information he'd reviewed had explained much, he knew well that there were significant gaps in what was available. There were little, if not paltry few individuals left whom had working and accurate knowledge of how to go about courting wild Dragons. _And wild red Dragons, at that._

Within a few hours of his arrival to the land, Tom had fortuitously come across a few clues as to his closeness to where he needed to target his hunt. It started with spotting an ancient tree, which had been fractured horizontally and had toppled over in a most unnatural angle. The jagged splinters projecting from the trunk had been singed horrifically and charred down to nubs.

The Lord couldn't help the excitement within him. Alone, he allowed himself the wash of giddiness to roll over him and he smiled unreservedly at the discovery. It was, in truth, only an occasional indulgence he permitted himself to get so energized. So much like he would if he were a young boy.

Tom apparated again, and again he discovered scorching marks along the ground, along with disturbances in the formation of the soil at his feet in the shape of clawed feet that were something near four or five hands across.

With another apparition, Tom looked around him, and from across a ravine there was a mountain with a plateau, and a distinct long red form. From his vantage, the shape was not clear, but it was unmoving and long as though stretched out lazily. The color was a deep and eye catching shade of ruby that glistened in the sunlight above.

Even from where he stood on the mountain facing, he noted that the large and resplendent shape luxuriating there in the warm weather, the thickest part of the great red mass rising and falling appropriately as it breathed.

Even at this great distance it was only a matter of time until he was sniffed out, and Tom knew the longer he waited, the more the danger increased. It was time he made his move.

Drawing his power, Tom formed a bright orb in his left hand that glowed warmly. He murmured an incantation into the ball he'd created and its glow surged with brilliance. The Lord reached back and hefted it out toward where the Dragon lay, using his magic to send it the distance that his arm could not manage on its own.

The spell shot true and straight towards its target: without making any noise, the orb burst and a blindingly and dazzling light sprang forth from it. The eruption of light woke the Dragon with a start, and with shrieks and hissing sprang forth in great volume it rolled to stand. The Dragon which had been previously in respite, was now wide-awake and poised to strike. The massive and horned crimson head lowered to the ground and the mouth containing bone colored teeth opened. The Dragon bore no lips that Tom could discern, so the sharp teeth jutted out aggressively. The opening of its mouth only added to the intense ferocity.

From nearby the forms of other red Dragons had begun to creep in. Low to the ground, despite their great mass, they moved slowly and deliberately with massively clawed paws with black nails and sharp looking scales edges that scraped against stone beneath them.

Tom hadn't seen any of these when he'd scouted this remote parcel, existing at the very edge of red Dragon territory, so as they crept in closer to where the original red had lain, he observed curiously as the gathering around his spell continued.

The light from his spell receded somewhat to expose a replicated visage of his own person. The nearest Dragon lowered its great head, adorned with razor-sharp horns that jutted out dangerously from every angle in its face, all motioning backward away from its muzzle.

The nearest beast lowered its face to the ground where the spectral Tom considered it calmly, and its massive yellow eyes narrowed dangerously, with venomous intent. From its mouth a sharp hiss emanated which started quietly, but grew in volume. Tom could feel its slithering quality even at the distance in which he stood, and though he would never dare reveal it; it was a terrifying sound. The Dragon sported a bone-colored singular horn at the end of its snout, just atop the nostrils which flared with aggravation as that hiss continued as breathed. As the spectral form he'd created hadn't moved the creature nosed towards it and drew a series of sharp inward breaths, scenting the projected being in front of it though its body never lost its tense posturing.

The real Tom bowed to the creature, and his spectral form mimicked the motion. "I bid you greeting, great red Dragon; most powerful magical creature and fierce protector of your lands and home. Greatest and most mighty of magical creatures." Tom paused, watching carefully as the beast leaned back and away from the speaking, non-corporeal form. It did not return his sentiment, and its eyes continued to remain locked onto him quite intently.

The surrounding red Dragons crept carefully, watchfully, as the neared to where the specter stood, considering him carefully as he observed their movements. Their massive bodies moved with that same grace he had noted, that it continued to surprise him. Their scales upon their bodies sounded like silk as they moved smoothly and sinuously together in tandem. Like that of a snake. But the texture, he could see, resembled that of stone. Each individual bore distinct features to that of its own body with slight variations in color and horn formations, they were all quite similar in shape. Each bore a dense and sharp shock of horns that pointed backward from their face beginning behind their eyes and grew larger as they grew into the rows of spines that cascaded down their backs. The jaws were equally as adorned by rows of stubbier stalactites of horn that tapered off to sharp points.

The great and distinctive wings of each specific beast were all tucked neatly and close into the back as they slunk around each other, weighing what they say, examining the spell Tom was weaving to address them from the safety of his distance.

It was their great yellow eyes that was truly the most striking part of them; the color appeared to burn with fervency. Each pair watched him carefully as the few nearest circled and paced, and drew nearer toward him to suss out what it was he was doing there.

He turned slowly toward the one that stood nearest to his projected form. His position was precarious, at best, he realized. Invading the red Dragons territory was dangerous, if not foolish and neither his spell nor his physical person would withstand the withering and blistering heat of Dragon fire should they choose to cast it upon him.

Tom inclined his head. "I greet you, oh great and wise master of the sky, and weaver of the arcane magics. Great and feared terrors of the lands, and keepers of the purest lineages." The closest Dragon's head dipped just a fraction at his statement. The red mass dipped lowed still to peer at Tom's form, leaning its great head so one of its eyes was closer than the other.

Tom continued, undeterred. "I come to seek your hand and offer you a partnership, one of great advantage with promises of wealth and prosperity for you, and others such as you. I bring with myself magic as an offering to share with you in exchange for your might and your fire."

The silence that followed was filled only with the sounds that the tails of the Dragons made as they drug through the ground below them. Tom waited patiently, holding the gaze of that closest Dragon which still watched him warily with that fired yellow orb. The Dragon closed its eyes slowly and took a deep breath.

A strange sound filled the air, which was some combination of grinding rocks and the rumbling of the earth beneath his feet. Its timbre was graveled and deep, but dark as a night without stars and filled with cinder.

Tom realized it was laughter.

The Dragon opened its eyes and bored them into Tom. Even through the spell, he could feel heat emanating from the Dragon's mouth as words poured forth from it; foul as the pits of a volcano spewing toxic gas from its caldera.

 _ **How foolish it is of you, little fleshling wizard, to come here.**_ The Dragon chuckled. Its voice was like a thousand shards of glass, and Tom struggled to keep from wincing obviously as the Dragon continued to size him up _ **. Your imprudence in showing your face here, with offers of little magic tricks? We hold your death in our jaws, mortal.**_ Its head began moving back and forth slowly and methodically, still watching him with that yellow eye.

The other Dragons that had surrounded the area hissed and gurgled. From the corner of his eye, Tom could see the flare of light and heat, catching his attention. The mouth of one of the great behemoths had opened, and its toothy jaws wagged as its laughter all but burned and smelled of cinders and ash. The scent was a prelude to destruction and death.

Their heads lowered threateningly, the Dragons held still but watched Tom as he maintained his posture and kept his attention to the Dragon who had spoken to him.

"Foolish, great one? Perhaps." He purred, truly seeing the mass and size of the Dragon before it. Truly, the beast was a mammoth, if ever there was one. Its teeth were as long as Toms forearm, and even though the beast was low to the ground the head was taller than Tom himself stood. From his vantage point, the wizard estimated that the length of it measured at least 7 lengths of a man **[1].**

The Dragon made a sound that sounded like a scoff, but it wasn't entirely certain. _**Then what is it you truly seek from us, little wizard? Why do you come to risk life and limb to the jaws of the Greater Dragons?**_ The reds tongue flicked out just then, as though it was tasting the air near its open maw.

Dragons wasted no time, it seemed. Tom was pleased at this revelation. Too-often did Lords misuse precious moments with postulation, deflection and all other manner of divertive action. "It is my purpose to win your allegiance, great one." Tom's petition tasted sickly sweet as it rolled off his tongue, and the sound of it curdled in the Dragons ear.

 _ **Be gone with you from this place, mortal thing. Your flesh is nothing to us. We only offer ash and death and fire.**_ It said with finality and made a low chuffing noise. The Dragons that surrounded the area bowed up from their crouches and made to move back to areas farther from where this congregation had arrived. The large red before him lifted its head and strode back several steps before swinging its head away, dismissing Tom as it moved to leave this place.

 _NO!_ After all the work he had done to find this place, the preparation for the spell now? Tom raged, loudly. He would not be put off so easily. From the depths of his flesh and bone Tom conjured from within him a heat that he cast out across the divide, through his spectral projection that took the form of a white, broiling fire that struck the Dragon at its side.

The impact and heat caused the Dragon to jerk its huge head back around and glare menacingly at Tom.

The Dragon no longer moved to leave, but reared its head sharply, and opened those great and fearsome jaws, sucking in a massive intake of air and gaseous material. Sensing the Dragon about to strike, Tom braced himself from the distance at which he stood and fortified his spell, grounding himself and hardening his focus. In a jet the Dragon shot out a line of fire from its mouth that shot straight through the spectral vision of Tom as he stood stalwart while the Dragon rained its blaze through the projection.

As the inferno died back into the Dragons mouth, little ignited droplets fell down onto the bare ground out of the jaws, and the outpouring of flammable material the Dragon produced was quelled. The phantom of Tom remained standing as he had, completely intact and wearing a smug smile on his unblemished face.

The Dragon turned its head and considered the vision more carefully before opening his jaws again, and with a low roar of frustration that shook the earth near him, brought his mouth down rapidly, snapping his jaws shut around the poltergeist that stood before it.

A rolling laugh sounded from the infuriating projection as the jaws passed completely through it, leaving it intact and unharmed. The Dragon snapped again and again with loud clacks of its bone-like teeth tore through the air as it build a furious scream from its throat, unable to find purchase on the form in front of it, and unable to tear it in two. The red Dragon ceased, and let loose a scream of frustration that sounded like glass and metal in the air. Even from where real-Tom stood, it scrapped at his eardrums and he fought to keep from wincing at it.

 _ **DAMN YOU BOTHERSOME PEST!**_ The Dragon roared. _**WHERE BE YOUR MASTER?!**_ The final bellow shook the ground as the Dragon howled its frustrations, clawing at where the spectral Tom Riddle stood, continuing to work itself into a frenzy as it used its head to try to bash him, more fire to burn him, and the lashing around if its long and barbed tail to skewer him. All efforts failed.

The other observing Dragons which had previously made to leave, had all crept curiously back toward the scene to witness as the large Dragon complained endlessly with spitting curses intermingled with a noise that sounded greatly like it was endemic specific to the Dragon, but was formed of consistent sounds.

Toms laughter had goaded the beast into a rage as it tried again and again to tear him asunder, each attempt failing completely until the beast settled itself, body heaving with deep breaths and a smoldering trail of smoke still seeping out of its mouth.

 _ **Be you a demon, or be you a man, mortal insect?**_ It hissed at him, but not waiting for Tom to reply. _**What is your hidden purpose?**_

The man grinned ear-to-ear at the Dragon; it was ready to talk after all, it seemed.

"I seek your alliance against my enemies, great one." he proclaimed, and the Dragon gave a sharp nod of understanding, but was still clearly incensed at having been unable to lay harm to the much-smaller adversary.

 _ **And what enemies have you, that we should care, tiny mage?**_ Tom smiled, but considered more carefully the posture the Dragon still maintained; its great neck was still curved as though to strike, the head low to the ground in menace. Its entire body screamed with threat and the Dragon eyed him carefully.

"Gold Dragons, great one." Tom observed carefully the posture of the large red Dragon as it reeled back and snarled.

 _ **Pomposity and self-importance, those are. How come you to believe we have a care to mingle in the detestable politics of man? We care naught for obliging the likes of you, vermin.**_ Its recoil at the mention of gold Dragons was clear, but so was its stubbornness over his pursuit.

Tom straightened himself further. "Oh, their piety and sickening benevolence is well-known." He agreed. "They make their supposition of greatness clear; that they are the superior being, and the greatest of all." The red cocked its head.

 _ **The gold Dragons are nothing more than charlatans. False kings. Vexatious in their self-proclaimed purity and righteousness.**_ The Dragon spat upon the dust of the ground. _**The last great Elder drove us here in exile to punish us for our misdeeds against man.**_ Tom's interest piqued further. _Now they were getting somewhere._

"Any why then should the "great" gold Dragons have sway in where you live, red master?"

The Dragons crackling laughter was low, not disguising his enjoyment at a compliment. _**Gold Dragons are the largest, and detestably the strongest.**_ He grumbled. _**We were bound here by The Elder with our own blood, unable to leave.**_

Tom considered his words most carefully before he posed his next questions. "So what then would a mighty red king such as yourself do, were someone to free you of your prison?"

For the first time since the exchange had begun, the great red Dragons posture changed, it relaxed slightly and its head dropped low to look directly at the spectral vision of Tom Riddle, the two eyes facing forward, the great giant raised a massive paw, one blackened razor claw outstretched.

 _ **Now that would be an engaging piece of magic indeed, little fleshling.**_

The Lord Riddle smiled ear-to-ear at the Dragon, and bowed to it humbly. "Then I am a servant to you in this venture, as I beseech you to enjoin together once you are freed."

The great red Dragon wagged his jaws just a little, as though it were a chuckle that only the Dragon could hear. _**So you are, mortal. What curious serendipity this is.**_ The yellow eyes looked at Tom carefully, though the beast settled downward until it was perched -not unlike a common cat, upon the ground in front of Tom. The great horned head no longer positioned to strike, those yellow orbs, shot through with light yellows and ribbons of saffron, were speculative and curious now.

 _ **Show me what you can do, little mage. Free me from my prison and let us discuss this scourge of gold Dragons we share as adversary.**_

 **AN:**

 **[1] –** Tom is using a measurement of 6ft. So 6ftx7 = 42 feet.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN:**

 **Pgoodrichboggs: Your reviews are so nice to see! I really appreciate that you take the time to leave them. Endlessly thankful! Seriously. Siriusly. Hahaha.**

 **Grovek26: Glad to hear you are catching up and enjoy what's been happening! I hope to be putting out as much as I can!**

 **So quick warning: imaginary sex things. Hope it's not offensive.**

 **On with the show!**

 **Chapter 18**

The last items had been stowed for this sojourn long before Loren stood at the steps leading into the gates of the House. The meeting to which he now left his home and family was preordained beyond even these last few months wherein the young Lords Nott and Malfoy had joined them to live and be trained, such that they did now. Though, at this moment, it was a private affair that neither of them attended.

His delightful Hermione, ever wearing her love for her family in plain view, gingerly hugged her father around the trunk of his torso. Even budding into a woman now, she still snuggled under his chin and it reminded him so much of the times when she was but a wee little girl and had ruthlessly carved out his affection at any time she felt a longing for it. In truth, he'd indulged her any of her physical affections and never turned her away. He was glad for it then, and eternally glad for the precedent set now.

So many political alliances had been secured for their House with the promises Loren had made. But those promises were broken now, and with this trip Loren would watch as the support of his House and the people in his lands withered up in ashes. It was funny, really, that a covenant from some thousand-years past that was secured to bring unity to two Houses and their people, was the very thing that would send theirs to its very ruin.

Knowing that this was waiting for him, like a veritable den of horrors that he would walk into, Loren Gresham wanted a few remaining moments of love and assurance before he left his family to travel to the House of Shacklebolt, more than anything.

Loren held Hermione tightly, and felt her arms around him tighten in kind. He tried to keep the breath he took from atop her hair from wavering, but it did so despite his attempts. A flood of tears welled into his dark brown eyes, and he blinked them back as best he could before he released her with a gentle squeeze of her forearms to separate from her. He chuckled lightly, changing the tone of the air around them. "But sweet, my girl. I will only be away the fortnight. At the very most." Her eyes of shining copper looked up to him with an adoring expression as though he had hung the moon, and though she smiled, strain showed around her eyes that held a tinge of disbelief in them.

How much she adored and revered him turned his guts sour, as he mentally fortified him for what was to come. The fall of his honor, and his word as a Lord would crumble into dust to be blown away with the winds. Already it seemed that the halls of his home were tainted with the atrocity he committed against Ursa, but the surety that they had let their doom in by the front door in the forms of young Malfoy and Nott. Though they would likely not depart the same way.

Loren turned himself to his son, and though he was grown nearly completely unto a man, Loren pulled his son into an uncharacteristically demonstrative embrace. Tyt'o didn't fight it, and didn't flinch. The unspoken desperation in the display urged him not to. The son returned the same intensity that Loren had in the grasp. "Be safe and well father. Gods-speed to you." Tyt'o murmured into his father's shoulder and Loren nodded stoically.

Once Tyt'o had stepped away from his father, Loren hesitantly faced Ursa. Her beautiful face was painted with a smile, as it always was. But as her husband, Loren could see the tightness of her mouth, and stiff was she held herself. They still hadn't addressed what had happened the day in his library, and looking at her bronze colored eyes, and long dark hair Loren felt a rush of panic wash over him when he realized that the damage his lack of control had caused them. How much harm he had wrought was staggering. In such a finite moment, he had succumbed to jealously and anger, and had taken it out on entirely the wrong person.

Loren Gresham met her eyes hesitantly, but Ursa refused to be cowed as she stared her husband in the face. The moment of their silence to the other felt uncomfortable to Hermione and Tyt'o; their parents affection was so entirely outspoken at any other time, this moment where they faltered to speak, and their expressions lacked their normal softness and affection had a tinge of something the siblings were entirely unused to.

Being the first to break the tension, Loren reached for Ursa's hand, and she dutifully provided it with a straight arm; not allowing Loren to draw her nearer him, to caress and envelope her as his love and wife before he left their home. His kiss to the back of her hand was tender, and he held it with his own two hands with reverence, still the two were wooden and formal. "My beautiful wife." He told her softly.

Ursa did not smile, nor did she soften to him. "My Husband." She acknowledged in a clipped tone. "May your journey be blessed with safety. We keep watch to the roads for your swift return." Loren nodded, understanding that this was all she was going to part with. He was more the fool for not having made his reparations sooner than this. If they were alone he would have cursed himself and intoned to her his mea culpa. Wooed her with whispered endearments, promises, love. That would all have to wait now.

Loren released his wife's hand, and stepped back with one last nod to her. "My Lady, I carry your words in my heart with me to my destination." He all but whispered.

Hermione's eyes darted to her brother to see if he, like her, felt the strain amidst their parents and felt the same question tugging at his mind. He gave her no return glance and even seemed not to notice her seeking gaze until she felt the jab of his thumb into her hip. She understood his meaning immediately and turned her attentions so her expression was not so obvious; they would visit upon this later in privacy.

With words of dutiful departure and affection, Loren mounted his horse at the head of the small company he led with him out of the valley of Morvan Rove, his eyes still fixated on his wife whom stood stalwart despite her feminine build. She raised only her right hand to him to bid him a final farewell before she opened her arms to her children welcomingly, and bade the two follow her back to the keep.

While Loren and his accoutrement of journeyers would have several days to travel to the end of the Gresham lands to apparate to the House of Shacklebolt, Hermione and Tyt'o were still beholden to their daily lessons and expected to ride for no less than two hours per day to maintain their exercise regimen; so there was no room for them to fall into the doldrums of pondering what had broken down between their parents.

It was, in fact, quite a puzzlement to Hermione when she and her brother entered their Great Hall to find that Sirius had already started with Theodore and Draco, but that when she entered the Hall to join them, it was Draco's gray eyes that met hers first and she witnessed a softened expression to her. Waves upon waves of sprite wings danced within her body, much to her wonder at why such a feeling had overcome her, and she fought desperately not to return his clandestine gaze to her with an uncontrolled grin of her own.

Between fighting the muscles of her face, which tried desperately to stage a mutiny against her mind, and the tingle of warmth that was creeping into her cheeks, her heart leapt in desperation as she fought herself at all angles trying not to make any overt show in front of the group. She blinked her copper eyes furiously and averted her eyes without being able to return his softness to her. Draco looked away, and seeing no one observed him in his periphery, he allowed a tight smile that Hermione floundered when she'd looked at him.

The moment she'd stepped into the Hall, she'd met her eyes unabashedly with his. Eruptions of warmth had surged through his guts, and most unexpectedly to regions he'd rather _didn't_ make any manifestation of interest. But it couldn't be helped. He shifted away slightly, and worked his mind down and away from his sudden interest in her arrival. But her face when he'd first seen her…. Her skin was like cream on a dessert that he'd never known could exist….

Hearing Master Black in the rears of his conscious woke Draco up but quickly, and he gave a literal shake of his head in a vigorous nod of agreement to whatever it was the Warlock had said.

"Excellent, young Malfoy!" Sirius grinned, and slapped him on the shoulder in a show of semi-affection. "It does my temper good to see you so eager to volunteer to go first." Draco glanced up at Sirius, and flashed his eyes to Hermione. As she removed her heavier leather over-jacket she couldn't help but snicker quietly. Her eyes filled with merriment and the waves of her hair shone beautifully in the light of the Hall.

"Now, let us today focus on conjuring the forces that are necessary to turning one object into another…" Sirius Black began, motioning to Draco to come forth and participate as his enlisted.

The lively steps of their mounts had made of an expeditious arrival to the border town of Brandwell at the edge of the Gresham lands. From this point the company would apparate directly, though individually, to the town surrounding the castle of House Shacklebolt. Horses had been boarded and fed properly, the men joining Loren had rested themselves overnight, and were ready to make the jump with Loren early on the fifth morning.

The feeling of apparition was one that Loren himself had never cared for; a sharp and nearly-painful pull within the depths of ones visceral matter was a sensation he could truly live without. And certainly, there were members of his banner men that found themselves unable to maintain equilibrium, or even the remains of their previous meal.

Finding himself conveyed properly and accurately, Loren Gresham straightened himself and the leather finery of his raiment. He did his utmost to shake the unease from sudden travel from his mind, but realized that it was joined by rising strain within himself at what was to come.

Entry to the House and formal greetings went smoothly enough. There were booming welcomes from the dark-skinned Lord of the House of Shacklebolt, along with wide smiles revealing supremely white teeth in contrast. His clothes were adorned in dark shades and embroidered with lively splashes of contrasting color. Not so much ostentatious as it was festive and vibrant. Much like the Lord himself.

Kingsley clasp Loren's hand as they walked through the halls, each of them sharing stories of their time apart and catching up as old friends may. Loren delicately and pointedly tiptoeing around any mention of the training of the children, and the changed number of residents within his House. Loren gave pause when mentioning the Dragons and the predicted hatching, citing that it was best to discuss in the presence of the additional Houses.

With a boisterous chuckle, Kingsley Shacklebolt agreed, and led Loren to the Great Hall within his Castle where the Lords of House Longbottom, McKinnon and Weasley all awaited his arrival.

The chorus of friendly welcome was overwhelming, and despite the cheery expression Loren tried to wear, he felt the maudlin of his countenance taint his smiles, and his laughter. It dulled them, made them less genuine. Out of the corner of Kingsley's eye, he caught Loren with a side-glance and the raising of an eyebrow, to which Loren clapped his palm upon Kingsley's forearm and nodded.

"Let us arrive upon our business, then, my good Lords." Loren pressed, and Kingsley nodded, as did the additional men within the room.

Drinks were served all-around as the five men gathered together and arrived comfortably in their chairs around the great wood table within the hall. Rough-hewn at the edges from a great and ancient tree that had felled at the end of it's like, within the House of Shacklebot it was given a new reverence as the centerpiece of his dining arena. The polished top gleamed in the light of the torches and candles lit, and the sunlight that came through the windows upon the wall.

Loren arrived to himself with aversion. Pleasantries having been exchanged the Lords wore expressions of seriousness now, the topics at hand requiring their undivided attention. The Lord of the Gresham House leaned forward at the table, resting himself on his forearms, his brown heavily worn in thought.

"My Lords," he began and paused. "My friends." He corrected. "I come to you at the final stretch before the great hatching will commence. While we have no way to tell with certainty when the Dragons will call to us to embark upon the pilgrimage to find their nest, I must bring to you most heavy and unexpected news of change."

The Lords all perked up at this mention and The Lord of the House Longbottom cocked his head to the side, as the Lord Weasley leaned in closer, frowning. "What be this change at so late an hour?" Arthurus Weasley asked, with a tinge of suspicion in his tone.

Loren met the eyes of his long-time ally, and sighed. "My fellow Lords, I ask that you allow me to recount from the very beginning, that I might expound on the predicament to which my House now finds itself." The four Lords nodded hesitantly, not certain of what to expect.

"Just before our marking of midsummer, I received a letter via emissary from the House of Malfoy. It spoke of meeting Lord-to-Lord pertaining to a contract between our Houses, as yet unfulfilled." He sighed and fought desperately to keep his hands clasped and not fidget as he wanted to. Despite his Lordly status, he was also a man into his middle age, and expected to be above such nervous behavior! "I refused Lord Malfoy at the onset, but received another letter only a week following, again making formal request to my House to meet with the Lord of the House Malfoy over a contract which me mentioned again, and requested reparations over it. He cited again as it was unfulfilled, his House requested satisfaction. I wrote to him this time and denied that any such contract was possible, and refused his request of meeting. However, it was my Lady wife who cautioned me from refusing the second request of session with the Lord, and I amended my response to him, and agreed to meet."

"Upon midsummer I did meet with him in the town of Brandwell, at the edge of Gresham lands. I bade my lands open their doors to him and his people, and commissioned rooms for him upon the Inn within the town that he might find our ground neutral in this discussion, despite our current state of aversion between our Houses."

"My Lords," Loren found himself trying to keep his voice even. "It seems I am in violation of a contract of marriage that was built by forebears no longer alive to describe to us what the original understanding was made upon. The House of Gresham is the one who has broken the contract." The four Lords gasped and there was murmurs in the room between parties. Lord Franklin Longbottom was the first to speak.

"Loren, what be'ist the reparation that the Lord Malfoy has requested?" The Lords face was wrought with concern for his allied sister House, and Loren steeled himself even though his courage wavered.

"The Lord Malfoy has proclaimed that if we will not fulfill the contract in giving my daughter to his House in marriage, that he will stake his claim in lieu of the nuptials to his son and heir for the two seats as Dragon riders."

The table erupted with shouts of indignation and rage from three of the four Lords. Proclamations of disbelief and anger wrung the air, but only the two Lords; Loren and Arthurus, remained stalwart in the midst. Arthurus' expression was shrewd and tinged with hostility.

His voice was low, but could be heard by Loren alone. "And what then, my friend, have you conceded to in this malice played upon your House?" Loren heard perfectly the question, despite the din of conversation between the other three parties at the table, the Lords now seating themselves again though they discussed loudly the outrage of the situation Loren Gresham was now placed, not knowing yet that he had long made his decision without their counsel.

"I have ears within the House of Malfoy, my Lords, and it is known to me what manner in which a man of the House uses his women." Arthurus' expression turned from suspicious, to a grimace of near-rage. The Weasley Lord already knew what was coming next.

"You fucking coward." He spat at Loren, but Loren refused to flinch. The three fellows being outliers to the exchange quieted at the vile proclamation made by the influential Lord of House. "You sold your precious commodity in exchange for the protection of your House!" He shouted and stood from the table. "Without word to your fellow Houses, you abdicated the option of joining your Dragons to the Houses you committed them to!" Loren refused to look away from Arthurus, his own anger rising at the attack he was under, though trying to keep himself in check as it was, simply put, an accurate statement.

"Aye, Lord; that I did. I was presented two choices: Sell the life of my daughter to a House known for their cruelty to their women and relegate her to a fate worse than any I would want to imagine, or agree to Malfoy supplanting my sister Houses for first choice as riders to our Dragons." Arthurus looked upon Loren with rage and betrayal, but Loren continued. "Tell me then, Arthurus; were it your own daughter. Ginevra, her name is? Would you consign her to abuse and ruin at the hand of a man who revels in seeing a woman debased and defiled? Could you send her to that fate? Would you look upon her face, and tell her that her future as a wife would be wrought with manhandling and shame? Tell me to my face, _friend,_ that you could. Perhaps you are a man of greater conviction than I, for though my House is not blessed with as many heirs, mine are still precious to myself and my wife than to be considered a commodity."

Loren's harsh words to Arthurus were met with silence and seething rage from the red headed Lord. The two glaring at each other until the melodic and rumbling voice of Kingsley cut the tension in the air.

"My Lords, we must maintain our senses of calm and review what is to be done next." He raised a dark hand to draw their attention towards him, and away from each other. "Lord Gresham has indeed committed a breaking of vows to us, though under duress of the threat of safety to his own child."

The Lords Longbottom and McKinnon remained pensive, though upset greatly at the facts revealed to them. Kingsley continued, authoritatively. "My Lords, we must all come together now to resolve what reparations of our own we seek now that circumstances have changed in this endeavor." He spoke this to the Lords of the Houses now glowering at Loren Gresham.

"My Lord Gresham, you must also be in agreeance to these requests, should we be able to maintain our alliances through each other."

Loren nodded his recognition at the statement. Loren's decision had cost him already, and it would continue to do so. His fellow Lords, once trusted allies and friends, now looked upon him with skepticism.

"As always, Kingsley, you recall us to even tempers in the face of disagreements." Loren stated in recognition.

"Or bad behaviors." Arthurus shot out, returning to his seat with a begrudging look painted upon him.

"My Lords!" Kingsley stated, and commanded moderation between the two Lords by holding his hands out at either side of him. "We are here as allies, and as friends. We are here for a common purpose, and shall regain our footing in this endeavor." The four additional Lords all nodded their agreements. "Now tell me truly, Loren, what window have you found into the Malfoy House that you made mention of that causes you to be so set in your perception of their House? And what of the riders that have been brought to your Home?"

It had been many hours spend at the grant table within the Shacklebolt Hall. Long hours of deliberation, exclamation, and repudiation. There was even, in the end, words of remorse and requests of forgiveness. Promises renewed from Houses between the assembly of Lords present to move forward as a faction rather than be divided over the set-back Loren's House had had to endure.

Loren was weary from this day. It showed plainly on his face, and while in private now the man showed no desire to conceal himself from anyone or to disguise any emotion he had felt. Tears ran from the dark eyes of the Lord of the House, unrestrained as though he were a mere slip of a boy who had tumbled across the road and skilled his knees. In the aftermath of so much turmoil between Houses he had worked to stabilize relations with over the course of his years as a Lord, his trials had been harsh.

At the table he sat at, in the rooms he was stationed into for his stay, the parchments containing renewed contracts of service and trade had been drawn up throughout that day. Gold was to be paid in penalty, and new pacts had been outlined for their coming heirs to fulfill should the matured pair of gold Dragons ever opt to clutch a second time. Any excess offspring available would be pledged to the sister Houses, with certainty. Much how these were planned to have been.

The Lord of House McKinnon, Isidore, had even gave note that he would have to consider at length whether their previous notion of betrothing Loren's son to Isidore's elder daughter Merrigan would bear fruit. It was fortunate that Kingsley had parlayed on Loren's behalf that in time, it was best to see if the heirs themselves found any appeal in such a match, rather than to have their Lords made contracts in their stead. He'd pointed out that this seems to have been what placed Loren Gresham in the sticky situation he'd found himself.

Loren had not bothered to counter Kingsley's assessment. He'd not had the courage. When Loren had returned from his convocation from Lucius Malfoy, he had ransacked his Houses records to find the contract Lord Malfoy had smugly dangled upon him, and had discovered the very same contract buried deep within the records of his House.

The contract had been concealed within the personal Journal of the son of the House, Helio Gresham. In it Loren had discovered, through his forbears own hand, that though his forefather had signed this contract of his own free will, he had done so to join the Houses together to prevent a rift from forming. Helio himself, it seemed, had been enamored of another woman long before this. Upon finding that he had begotten a child by her, he married her with haste. It had left the young heiress of Malfoy with no groom, and the stain of dereliction and shame on her person.

By the grace of the gods, Helio later recounted that the woman had married and produced heirs upon that House, but the relations between that in the years following continued to degrade further and further. Helio Gresham, it appeared, had been the cataclysm that had changed the face of the great Houses in the land, those many years ago.

Though he found that he loved his wife, and their children, most dearly. Helio himself in his personal journals written later in the years of his life, recounted the events of that period of his youth with great regret. Relations had all but crumbled as he handed the control and Lordship of his House to his eldest son, he could only watch by and witness as political alliances were strained to the point of breaking, trade and protection treaties had less and less agreeable profits between Houses. The avalanche that had been caused by his rash and ungentlemanly actions had been at a high cost to his House.

When Loren had read these thoughts transcribed by his ancestor, he had been overtaken with such sorrow at seeing what treachery and misunderstanding had been caused by the low behavior of his forefather. Loren had shed tears then, as he shed them now.

Isolated in the rooms he occupied for his stay, Loren allowed himself the purge of his emotions and cried harder, leaning his face into his forearms atop the table at which he sat. The shame, and anger poured out of him in the tears that ran from his eyes, and painted his arms before their moisture reached the wood he rested on. Such a state he would never allow anyone to bear witness to, not even his wife.

Thoughts of his wife crept into his mind, and Loren shuddered even harder as he realized that even if he could call his wife to his side, she would not lend him comfort and counsel now. Not without repairing the wrong he had wrought upon her.

In times of great duress and turmoil, it was Loren and Ursa who would seek the wisdom of their great Dragons, and appeal to their knowledge and counsel to aid them in better outcomes. Their Dragons were still occupied in the cold of the high mountain reaches, and of no aid to him at this time. Their presences already keenly felt as an emptiness within each Gresham already. But none so more powerfully that at this very moment, at least for Loren.

As Loren Gresham continued to weep, he saw that at that moment, was well and truly _alone_.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and though she was ripped from a solid sleep, she joyously bounded from the luxury of her warm comforter, stumbling slightly into the table beside her bed and tripping over her own feet as she started sprinting for get door.

 _She'd heard them!_

Crashing into her thick door, she flung the lock off and tore through the opening. The thick wood made a reverberating bang through the halls. But Hermione paid no care to this, her feet carried her swiftly as she raced through the halls of her House.

Deep inside her chest, the fading feeling of being tugged still lingered. The way her body vibrated as it had called to her as a great hum had enveloped her whole being still sung in her bones. _She'd heard them! The hum! They were here!_

Hermione's bright copper eyes shone with budding tears as she ran as fast as she could, barreling into chairs as she turned a corner, nicking a painting with her shoulder. A ruckus of noise boomed in the wave of her marathon through the House.

In her blind haste, the sounds had reached even the room where Draco reposed inside, peaceful in his slumber. The toppling over of a small table outside the door of his room brought him full-stop to an awoken state. If a hissing profanity hasn't followed, Draco would have simply assumed it to be his imagination and rolled himself back into the luxury of the down filled comforter he lay beneath. The blonde sat up hastily and tossing his coverings aside, hurried to his door.

The sight he witnessed was not what he expected: the dimly lit hall was littered with overturned items, and just as he turned to look to the stairs he caught sight of a pale bit of cloth dancing midair as it was pulled out from his view down the stairs.

Draco followed without taking mind to close the door to his room. Feet moving quickly, he followed this apparition down the stairs. It moved quite quickly so he hastened to catch up to it, unable to make out clearly what it was that he was following, aside from a white shaped flutter dashing through the passageways.

Stubbing his foot at some undetected corner, Draco stumbled a moment swearing as the pain caused him to cringe and limp along for a stretch while it subsided. At that point, however, he'd lost sight of what he had been chasing.

Slowing his pace and taking note of where he stood, he found himself in a small parlor that was fairly unassuming in size and decorum. It did have double doors which, at present, were ajar to the outside. He approached as quietly as possible, trying to keep the noise of his feet to a minimum.

Peering through the doors, the light of the moon cast the outside in a luminosity that allowed him to see detail as though it were daytime. It was not yet full, but the embellishment of the stone balcony beyond was very clear. As was the form of Hermione Gresham, clad in nothing save for a nightgown.

Her lively and shining curls were illuminated in the pale light outside, and hung freely over her shoulders and down the middle of her back. Her white shift bore no sleeves, but displayed provocatively her bare and soft shoulders, reaching only as far down as mid-calf showing a delightfully feminine pair of ankles and feet. Draco Malfoy flinched as searing heat crept into his face, and he felt a shift in pressure deep in his groin as the apex of his night wear grew tight and uncomfortable. He had to back away from the door and force himself to look down upon the stone floor to keep a groan from reaching his lips. Never had he seen any female in such a state of undress!

Draco glanced up again at her as she moved to lean over the balcony, clearly in search of something that Draco couldn't see. The gleam of moonlight over the expanse of her bare arms was hypnotizing; a perfect, unblemished expanse of flesh that conveyed the benefit of her daily exercise, but too the effeminacy of her form. Despite what he knew to be proper, Draco couldn't bear to look anywhere else. He found himself positively parched, and the sight before him a fountain from which to drink.

As her body moved this way and that, her frantic searching calmed further, he noted that though her shift was thin, it was not so much so that he could observe much of her shape beneath. That he was even looking tugged at him in his mind that he _should_ be looking away, as a true gentleman would. Draco pushed the notion aside roughly and paid it no further heed.

Quietly, Hermione murmured something into the darkness, and sighed heavily. She appeared weary suddenly, and leaned herself on her forearms upon the stone rail, her body folding at the waist. Certainly what Draco could not discern a moment ago, he absolutely could now! With a bit of a shock, he turned completely away from the parted doors and faced away. His body felt like it was lit inside with a fire, shooting through his core and deepening the insistent pressure trapped inside his loosely tied cloth pants.

Draco had begun to literally quake as the sensation _begged_ to be relieved. The young man struggled to keep his hand from reaching downward to answer the unrelenting and cruel hardness that hung between his legs. Draco took a deep breath, as quietly as he could. It would be problematic were he to be discovered in such a state; lurking in the shadows, ogling the form of the daughter of the House. Nothing good would come from that.

As Draco turned back to the separated doors, his length brushed part of the door and he sagged in the middle at the torturous sensation spread through his loins, crying desperately for relief. He cursed himself wordlessly and righted his body, looking out again through the doors at Hermione.

Mercifully, she'd stood up straight again, though her palms still touched the railing and her posture revealed her to be pensive. It was a delicious torment, he concluded, and smiled softly as he imagined how soft her hair looked and wished that he could see the face that he'd come to memorize from the many times he'd stood opposite to her in the weeks they'd been drilled repeatedly by their teachers.

Draco could bear no more anguish in coveting her in such a manner, and he made to walk stealthily back the way he had come. While he still wore a grin on his face, he tried with desperation to shield the evidence of his interest by adjusting his pants, but with little success. The young man bounded up the stairs with ease, and the activity helped mildly in taking his mind off the vision of Hermione's body that was seared into his memory.

As he closed the wooden door to his room, he slumped his body against it and sighed deeply. His frustration and ache at war with each other in his mind and in his veins. Reaching the lock with his hand, he secured it, and dropping his head back, he undid the tie to the light pair of pants he wore to bed. Their soft cloth sliding down the length of his legs as they were bared in the darkness, he unabashedly slid his hand across the length of himself, suppressing his own gasp.

As he moved his opened palm expertly around his aroused extremity, taking his time to slowly build himself, all he could see behind his closed eyes was moonlight that illuminated sensuously curled hair surrounding the face of the most beautiful thing he had ever lain eyes on. Her copper eyes would be half closed and filled with craving. Her pink lips would part for him as he pressed his upon them gently, and her breath catching as much as his did while he moved his hands over her skin, that would feel as soft as silk.

As Draco's mind wandered further, his hand picked up speed and his imagination went wild with the scene he played for himself, as he experienced the most intimate parts of his fictitious playmate. His lips travelled to the peaks of her beautiful and buoyant breasts, smelling her skin through the shift he'd seen her wearing. Their tips were taut with how aroused he was making her, and still so deliciously soft against his lips as he brushed them on her lightly. Her smell was feminine, delicate, and completely her own, but it made his mouth water to taste every inch of her and with a whisper he could hear her breathy request. "Oh, Draco, yes…." She sighed to him.

It was more than enough. The tickle that had crept up from every corner of his body, until he was desperate for it to stop –but also to continue forever, was fulfilled. His mind-shattering thirst was quenched as a waterfall surged down toward him from above. The pinnacle of his pleasure was startling, and abrupt, and as his breath calmed it left him vibrations all through his body that caused his limbs to tremble. His hands were decorated with his moisture, and he felt nothing short of magnificent.

Later, when he had cleansed himself and laid back into the comfort of his own bed, he grinned obnoxiously for himself, reveling in the satisfaction he felt. Draco felt nothing but wonder as he imagined the scent of Hermione's hair, and how he would twirl a soft strand of it around his finger while she lay there beside him. His mind playing the sound of her contented sigh for him as the two of them would have conformed to the other, wrapped disastrously in each other's arms as they came down from their highs, and the vision of contentment carried him off to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello lovely readers! Thank you for the reviews, reads, and follows! I appreciate every one of them, and every one of YOU!**

 **So FF is doing some "fun" things with formatting when I've updated some of the last few chapters, and adamantly refused to put in things like the lines I place in between scenes. So I'm going to try to edit that in the future, when I get the time. I've tried to fight it several times and each time it's given me "The Bird". I apologize if it reads roughly.**

 **As there is Thanksgiving coming up here in the good old USA, my quasi-normal schedule of updating is going to be off. I am going to try to work on this from home, but let's be real here: family + children + holiday including COPIOUS amounts of desserts is going to be nuts. But I'll press forward as quickly as possible! But hooray for stretchy-pants day. I hope you all have pie and pudding in whatever quantities you deem necessary.**

 **Warnings: suggestive and mildly dub-con somethings coming. Treachery. Lies. More fun.**

 **So on with the show!**

 **Chapter 19**

The near-silent morning had created a haven in Lucius Malfoy's private study, broken only by the sound of his own soft breathing as he scanned over parchment containing reports of the holdings of his House, and the overall management of his accounts across the Malfoy lands, but also the trade accounts with fellow aligned Houses. His occasional sigh, or the rustling of the rough paper was the only sounds to be heard in the vast room where he sat.

Lucius very much enjoyed his time in solitude, where he could do as he wished, and indulge in what he desired without hesitation. Whether that was several moments of repose where he could observe from the window at the delectable shape of a young woman that walked across the courtyard below; her hips swaying saucily from side-to-side unintentionally. Or partaking in a goblet of a fine vintage should the whimsy strike him. It was wondrously lavish to be the Lord of the House, truly.

The Lord straightened his back to release the tension in it, and pulled his work into his lap while he folded his long leg atop his knee, and he bounced his booted foot a moment to bring some blood flow back into it. It was, however, an unfortunate byproduct that one's limbs could go numb from the monotony of being seated while the accounts were to be tallied and managed.

This burden would typically fall to one's Lady Wife, which was a standard in this age among the Lord Houses, but as Lord Malfoy himself had….. A variety of interests, he insisted that he managed all of the accounts himself and insisted that his wife entertain herself with more feminine pursuits. Though he himself was not entirely certain what that would involve, he staunchly forbid Narcissa to have any contact with any of his private financial matters or records whatsoever.

A soft knock at the door brought him out of his absorbed mental state, and he groaned just a little as he conceded a single "Enter" at the door to the room. Swinging open slowly, a young woman holding a tray with a small assortment of edible items, and a corked bottle walked forth with her head down subserviently. Lucius' attention was piqued away from his work momentarily as he silently conceded that a refreshment was indeed what could sustain him through this present mountain of paperwork.

The youthful domestic was attired in a simple light rough brown dress with a white apron, as were all of the young domestics within the House that served for 'general' purposes. It marked her specifically as someone low-ranking, and indeed also low-born within the lands. Someone likely from a questionable background or the product of being born on 'the wrong side of the sheets', but still fortunate enough to have secured an esteemed station within the Grand House here with the Malfoy Lord and his family.

It was routine for those young women holding this position to be ones whom were plucked from their own homes in the towns that peppered the lands, families poor and unable to feed all of the children bursting forth from it. It alleviated the stress to the home, as well as brought able-hands into the House.

And oh, what able hands Lord Malfoy employed! The blond haired Lord watched from beneath his brows as she approached, seemingly keeping his focus at his work. He enjoyed observing indirectly, finding that people were able to maintain their normal function and gestures without the notion of scrutiny. But he was, indeed, studying her.

Her hair was insignificant; pulled back properly and away from her face. Inconsequential as far as Lucius was concerned. Her face; forgettable and plain. Though, her skin was fresh and lovely and as far as he could ascertain, unblemished as far as her face, neck and the very modest décolletage revealed to him. The revelation caused a certain influential appendage of his to prepare to assert itself into negotiations. Lucius rolled his hips forward slightly to provide just a degree or two of comfort space within his trousers, as the girl dutifully set the tray down before her Lord, silently setting his plate, and situating his fresh goblet for him. Her voice was very small, yet unmelodic and almost scratchy from lack of use.

"Will that be all, your Lordship?" Her small hands, also fairly free of blemish and appearing to be –at least- decently cared for. Short nails and un-calloused palms. Lucius stood without any prior signal to her, and the young woman hunkered her back subserviently, moving slightly away to give the Lord room to pass, but Lucius stood fast.

The girl waited tensely, expecting her master to bid her leave, or provide her a command, but he did neither. Lucius simply took one graceful step, his eyes focused entirely on her diminutive form so cowed before him, her breaths quick and nervous. He felt a surge wash through his loins as his breeches were then occupied by a veritable obelisk of flesh. It was not a girl he had taken note of before this time, but this mattered little to him. His personal valet knew his tastes, and oversaw that every one of them was met with consistency and accuracy.

Lucius drew a fingertip along the edge of the girl's dress collar; light and slow. She dared not look up at him as he slowly stalked around her, taking in her form, examining all that she was with intense scrutiny. The Lord leaned in and pressed his lightly moistened lips at the very center of the minimal expanse of flesh exposed to him between her neck and upper shoulders. She smelled and tasted clean and fresh, and he opened his lips slightly and allowed his tongue a brief taste of her flesh. The girl shivered at the touch, unable to contain her response, but said nothing and kept her hands clasped in front of her.

Using his much-larger male form to cloister her against his desk, he caged her body with his own so he could feel the heat of her in front of him. Dipping his knees, he bought his hands down just over her hips and over her the rough fabric of her dress so he could grip it around her mid-thigh and slowly drag it up. Keeping his breath at the back of her neck he ghosted over the small area of her exposed flesh as he did so, bringing gooseflesh within the wake of his ministrations. The girl in front of him dipped her head and stuttered out a noise; something between a sign and a repressed moan. Her upper arms and shoulders tensing as she gripped her hands tighter, having nowhere else to put them.

As Lucius brought the hem of the dress higher, he intentionally brushed the backs of her legs as he raised it, creating tickling sensations as he did so, which made her shift her hips in response. Lucius grazed the hard piece he held in his pants imperceptibly along the valley of her cheeks as he torturously continued to bring her dress higher. The girl wrung her hands and bit her lip, and though Lucius could see how she trembled and her breaths hitched from behind her, he did not see her face.

With bunched folds of dress in his hands, he slipped his palms beneath their curtain deftly, traveling the expanse of her threadbare undergarments, and dipped the hooks of his thumbs within them to draw them down. The sensation of his touch was clearly a foreign experience, as she pressed her thighs together tightly and suppressed the moan that she tried to eke itself from her lips.

Without loosening the undergarment she wore, Lucius inserted his hands within it expertly, and sampled her skin with the tips of his fingers as he danced them over the tops of her bare thighs. Her breath had moved from fast and nervous to deep and wanting as she made the most minimal of keens beneath her breath. The feather-light touches of his right hand moved inward at her center, only grazing the very tops of the hair that was nestled at the apex there. She arched her back unexpectedly and gasped, causing Lucius to withdraw his hand, and the girl opened her mouth noiselessly as though she wished to cry her protest at the loss of sensation.

The control over her reactions spurred Lucius and he swiped again just over the thatch of hair that covered her feminine delicacy, and she predictably undulated beneath his expert handling. He teased her like this until her hands had loosened themselves apart and had unceremoniously plopped themselves on the wood in front of her as she writhed rhythmically, her thighs rubbing together as pressure had begun within her center with no hope of being set free.

He could feel the humidity that was building under his hand, and a few times had danced a fingertip along the plump lips concealed there. But his self-indulgence was far from over; as the girl writhed in near silence under the expert pleasure beset upon her inexperienced person, Lucius had slowly begun rubbing the length of his hardness along the seam between her cheeks, building a pressure all his own as well.

His body demanded gratification, and while his left hand exited the warm confined beneath her dress to reach the ties on his breeches, the girl felt the loss that was removed from her humid and soppy sex. As the Lord pulled efficiently at the pulls at his waist to free himself, the girl found herself wantonly pushing back at him with her hips. Lucius growled hungrily, pleased at her willingness to open to his next advances.

Mere fractions of a second before Lucius could give freedom to his flesh, their dalliance was interrupted as an abrupt trembling that shook up from the earth rattled through the House. From the very foundations beneath the floor the trembling had rattled everything around and near them from someplace around the exterior, as though something had impacted the ground with great force. The girl beneath Lucius's hands gasped and gripped the desk she was leaning over in her despicably wanton state with fear and shock.

The Lord righted his body immediately, and untangled himself from the pleasures he was indulging on with her flesh. He gave her a shove with the same hand he had used to titillate her body, positioning it at her left shoulder and pushed her toward the door. The girl needed no other prompting and quickly scampered out of the room, righting as much as she could on her person so her shame would not be so evident upon her leaving. The Lord of the Houses' tastes were well-known, and the undertone of a domestic woman hastily leaving his study in a flurry was as typical as a morning constitutional.

Lucius Malfoy was irritated at the interruption with his plain little plaything. His trousers secured, he strode from the room with an air of fury that swept around him in sinuous waves. His strides were purposeful through the House, and on several occasions he could hear the unrest of the Household staff from their various corners, as well as shrieks of terror from the outside.

The tempo of his travel shifted from irritated, to urgent and he began to run. At several points in his haste, he both bumped and slammed into various servants who were rushing indoors, expressions of terror writ about their persons. When Lucius made to fully open a heavy door to the outdoors, he caught a low and menacing hiss that seared into his bones and caused him to wince in pain.

His eyes immediately fell upon the form of one Lord Riddle, standing unperturbed and calm, upon his very doorstep. His elegant expression and hair coifed _just so_ , as the Lord preferred. His hazel eyes betrayed nothing but a smug patience.

The overwhelming sight behind the Lord was what Lucius found to be the most dismaying. Looming from behind more than a few dozen feet away was the towering form of a ruby-red Dragon, whose body was adorned in fearsome rock-like spikes that jutted away from its spiny face. The jaws were open and displayed rows of bone-like teeth, and yellow eyes that menaced the Lord with a burning hatred. Its vast wings blotted out the sun around it as it waved them lazily, as though stretching them at its own pleasure.

Lucius found that he had no air in his lungs, and chuckling, Lord Riddle waved a hand dismissively at the fellow Lord. "Oh, come now Lucius. Don't tell me you aren't man enough to face a Dragon." He scoffed at the cowering Lord who refused to peel his eyes away from the form of the massive beast making itself at home in the grounds at front of his castle.

Lucius sputtered lamely, unable to formulate any response to Tom, and the Lord further chuckled his amusement. "Try to contain yourself, Lucius. I'm certain that as long as you don't make any sudden or unexpected movements, the Dragon should be able to restrain itself from igniting you while alive." Without pause, Tom waved his hand at Lucius and continued. "This is not the reason for my arrival. Though I am pleased that you are suitably terrorized by the sight of my companion here, I do need to insist that you contain your bodily responses so that we may discuss certain progressions in our mutual plans."

The Malfoy Lord nodded his head absently, his eyes finally darting to Tom, but then back to the red Dragon; its yellow eyes examining him with unabashed disgust. If the beast had possessed lips, Lucius was certain they would have been raised in an imperious sneer. The monster hissed at Tom's back, and the sound punctured his skull like shards of glass through wet parchment, and Lucius clutched at his ears.

Tom raised his hand and cast a commanding gaze back at the Dragon. The thing behind him abated the noise, and looked at Tom as intently as he did at the Dragon. "Now, now, my friend," He admonished. "Lucius is an ally. You'll come to humor him, just as I do, in time." The Dragon tilted its head slightly and looked back at Lucius.

 _ **It is a gnat.**_ It breathed, haughtily, and Tom laughed openly.

"I promise you, Lord Malfoy has his merits. Try very hard not to be tempted into putting him into your belly." Tom assured the beast, and it begrudgingly snorted and slackened its aggression, casting its yellow eyes to the side as it seemingly grew curious at the surroundings it currently occupied.

Lucius Malfoy shook his head, trying to clear the receding pain that had threatened to split his skull in twain. Tom Riddles words of mockery still floating around in his mind, and he stood to look at Tom again. Lord Riddle imperiously strode into the House, leaving Lucius abandoned at the door looking at the Dragon. The spiked head swung his direction again, and with a jump, Lucius darted back in the door and slammed it behind him, leaning against it to catch his breath.

Tom had taken it upon himself to enter the House completely without Lucius as a chaperone within it, and the Lord found himself scampering behind him to catch up. When Lucius finally reached Tom, he found himself a bit out of breath. Both from the shock of opening his door to a _Dragon,_ but also from the brief sprint.

"Lord Riddle-" Lucius began, and Tom jerked a hand up at him, glaring in his direction.

" _Not here."_ Tom ground out, and flicked his hand with an expectant gesture. Lucius understood the meaning; Lord Riddle was commanding they be in privacy before discussing anything. Lucius took the lead and showed Lord Riddle to his personal study. The same one he had only left moments before while indulging himself in pursuits of pleasure.

Upon entry, Tom wrinkled his nose. "It smells of fox musk in here, Lucius. You really must be more discerning with whom you allow in your personal rooms." Tom's distain was clear, and Lucius found himself fighting with what he realized was a blush that had crept to his face. _Lucius Malfoy, blushing!_ His mind reeled with self-admonishment. _Pull yourself together, you gods-damned fool!_

Tom Riddle positioned himself at the edge of a chair, and with a wave of his hand, he loosed magic from it in a wave of air as though to clean dust from its top, though the chair seat was pristinely cleaned. The gesture was clear, however, and Lucius cocked his head in disbelief before he took to staring at Tom expectantly. Tom settled himself comfortably and looked upon his ally's expression and scoffed.

"Oh, come now Lucius. Surely you aren't flustered over a few words between myself and that Dragon, are you?" Lucius eyed Tom suspiciously now. First he was insulted to his face in the company of a beast that could have easily cooked him down to his bones, and proceeded to burn the fortress of his House to ask and dust, and now Tom sat arrogantly in a chair in his study and bade him to brush it away as though it were nothing?

Lucius expression turned angry, and Tom interrupted him immediately.

"Understand, Lord Malfoy that the Dragon I have won and brought back as my companion is, by nature, a capricious and diabolical creature at its very core. Rest assured that if given the change, this beast would lay waste to anything it deemed to be in the path it set itself upon, and sees any one of us as even unfit enough to be considered ants at its feet." He shook his head. "Anything and everything I say to this creature in abuse of you, or any other Lord within our great United Houses is nothing more than an insurance for our survival." The Lord's hazel eyes met Lucius' unwaveringly.

"Any coarse vulgarity against your person, of the honorability and stature of your great House is nothing more than a clever ruse to paint you as my underline, and subordinate, and therefore its minion as well."

Surprisingly, Lucius found himself pacified at this. Though, not entirely relaxed from his previous bristling at the volley of insults, he nodded his head congenially and began gathering his composure again.

"I see, Lord Riddle." Lucius began, using Tom's formal title, and Tom clucked his tongue with gentle admonishment.

"Now Lucius, we can't let a little misunderstanding threaten our alliances of Houses, and cloud our friendship, now can we?" Tom's tone was honey-smooth and almost kind, like kind of scolding a gentle grandfather would give a young child. Lucius felt compelled to shake his head at the fellow Lord, but he wasn't entirely sure why he agreed. _No one spoke about the Lord of The House of Malfoy in such a manner!_ Some part of his mind railed, but was pacified with Tom's hypnotic choice of words so that he found himself agreeing that Tom had made a very excellent point.

"What excellence we find ourselves in agreement, isn't it Lucius?" Tom purred. "Now to set matters to rights I want us to review the communications young Draco has sent you to see if there are any bits of information we might use to our advantage-" This brought Lucius much out of his light haze and he opened his desk to locate the communications his son had sent over the last weeks away.

"Most regrettably, Tom, it seems that there is not much indication of any interest to any of us, as I'm certain Draco intended it. The letters arrived sealed with the House of Gresham, so it is certain that the Lord himself examined them before they were sent to us." Tom accepted the letters in his graceful hands and scanned them as Lucius had spoken to him. Noting that there was truly, nothing of grand note, Tom handed them back.

"Then what say you to the notion that you send your Lady Wife to the House of Gresham for a visit upon her son?" Lucius' eyes widened in surprise.

"Narcissa? Whatever for? Surely a woman who spends her time in nothing but the view of her gardens, and enjoying her woman's work would be no use to us in any capacity." Lord Malfoy dismissed the idea of his wife without skipping a beat, but Tom pressed further.

"Be that as it may, Lucius, the Lady of the House is still the fruit of the Ancient House of Black, and the House of Black once carried a great deal of stature among the Great Houses. Too once it possessed some of the most cunning and ruthless minds as their Lords, and she hails from that same stock." Lucius made a face of disbelief, thinking at his quiet and demure wife. So _uninteresting_ in her blandness that it let him to disgust to believe her anything other than a mere puppet. A beautiful and frequently tantalizing one, but a puppet nonetheless. Lucius sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I do not believe she will prove to be anything more than a liability, Tom. She simply has no grasp of politics not intrigue."

"This might be true, and if this be the case then she will prove an innocent insertion, and will be unable to withhold any information she gathers from us?" Tom's dark brows lifted. "Certainly the offer to see her one and only son, your sole heir, would be as an undeniable temptation for a mother, wouldn't you agree?" Lucius sighed his capitulation with an air of unwillingness and Tom pressed his case. "And should there be any danger to her in her travels, well, she has already begotten your true progeny. A great House, even one within the Guild, would not dare suffer a Lady of status to come to harm in her travels through their lands. Why the implication would mean _war._ " The final implication caused Lucius shaking disbelief to turn into the raising pique of his eyebrows.

Though the Lord had no real love for the woman, she was the Lady of his House and the mother to his heir. He did oblige her safety and comfort beneath his roof with sufficient entertainment and activity to fill her days without complaint, as she had been trained at his hand not to do. Lord Riddle did present a notion that could finally prove them to have justification to press forward with their plans.

Lucius' hesitation must have been evident on his face, because Tom's expression grew shrewd. "Do you doubt my strategy, Lucius?"

Lord Malfoy shook his head hesitantly, and found his eyes had wandered to his desktop to muse with imaginary dust particles upon it. "No, Tom, it is not that I doubt your prowess in strategy. Certainly not. You have ever been a master of masters in any political games." Lucius pauses, his eyes darting back to Tom briefly, _nervously._

From behind the great wooden door to the study, Narcissa Malfoy found herself pressed quite indecorously against the grain of the smooth wood, her delicate hand pressed into her mouth in a fist, and tears of rage and fear flowing down her face in rivers. She couldn't believe her ears! _That son of a bitch means to murder me!_ Her mind screamed.

Narcissa withdrew the magic she had cast out past the door to carry the Lords voices to her and pushed her body away from the door. She refused to entertain even a single word further of the blasphemous and venomous plans that were taking shape within the room she spied upon, and with her silent steps, ushered herself back to her personal rooms.

The halls about castle Malfoy were eerily empty; it seemed that with the presence of a _Dragon_ at their very front door, the majority of the staff and attendants that resided here were pressing themselves to windows and peeking out from doorways to gape at the monstrous creature which besmirched their noble landscape. Its hissing and malicious countenance equally horrifying and fascinating, for none in these lands had ever lain eyes on a Dragon before.

Fighting to keep herself from tearing through the halls towards her destination, Narcissa cried openly but without sound. A practice she had been forced to master within the very first year of her marriage, and one she had learned was a valuable skill to have.

She knew Lucius didn't have a care for her; that much had never been questioned. Theirs was a marriage of arrangement, and not of love or affections. She had endured him as a husband, with all his cruelty and his perverse inflictions upon her mind and body without complaint. And in turn, he had given her a son, one she had been able to love and dote upon without restriction as Lucius found the handling of an infant to be distasteful and annoying. She, on the other hand, had discovered in motherhood that there was some joy to have been found in the world where she had ever only known disappointments and grief.

That shade bastard Tom Riddle meant to spell her death to start a war! Narcissa's sharp mind raged suddenly as she shoved her despair and fear away. Tom Riddle was nothing more than the illegitimate son who had come calling in the middle of the night to the crumbling House of Gaunt to supplant himself into the Lord's seat by force.

His arrival was followed by the widely-undiscussed and mysterious passings of The Lord Marvolo and his heir Morfin. Though it was no great loss either as the two were near-mad, but it had been whispered that Tom's mother, Merope, had fled in the night with the first man who would have her. A low-born coachmen who had caught her eye, and tempted her away from the filthy gropings of her father and brother. No, her escape from those monsters was nothing short of a miracle in her benefit, and she was not the first female-born Gaunt who had been mistreated at the hands of her Lords.

The facts of this she had spied from her father, Cygnus, upon the sudden wrest of the hereditary position Tom had assumed some two score prior. But Tom was right about one thing: Narcissa was born of the Ancient and most noble House of Black, and there were indeed minds born of it that were yet ruthless and cunning. She would be no defenseless weakling!

Arriving in her rooms, she shut her doors with poise and locked them, calling her magic to her fingertips to fortify her entryway against the curious ears of any passers-by. While her husband, Lucius, thought her resplendent in her rooms with embroidery and frippery, Narcissa was busy occupying her mind and honing her magic with ancient books she had embezzled from her husband's libraries.

She always came at his behest with haste when he summoned her to his library; it was always a game for her to replace the book she had borrowed and try to locate another that would suit her pursuits adequately. And while Lucius would rut at her body while she lay sprawled atop his wooden desk, she would silently be recanting the castings she had mastered over the last ten and five years under the roof of this House. It was all she could do to make this captivity bearable.

Satisfied that her room was safe, and private from any prying attentions, Narcissa turned to her private and comfortable domicile and considered her situation carefully. First, there was a Dragon in the front yards of their castle luxuriating in its oppressiveness at the people of her House. _A gods-be-damned-Dragon._ She thought to herself, and sighed with a little distress. She had known that Lord Nott had found a location where wild Dragons would reside, but in the literature she had pilfered, it hadn't seemed very likely that one of them would deign to lower itself into the service of a mere man. A Lord, granted, but Dragons couldn't acknowledge any titles mortals touted, could they?

Narcissa pressed her mind forward. Second, the Dragon was in firm league with Tom Riddle, and that in and of itself would lead to nothing good. Tom was an incarnate of deception and villainy as much as that red Dragon was, she was sure of it to her very bones. As certain as she was of Tom's lack of integrity in supporting the Houses of the United, she was assured that this Dragon would have no feelings of affection that would bar it from boiling a man alive when the time came. And the only man she cared anything for was her son.

She pressed her hands to her temples in sudden desperation; Draco was so far away from her now, and she was unable to provide him any protection! He was all alone, in the House of Gresham; the oft-antagonistic family that so fervently clashed with her marital House. "Damn, and blast!" she swore, softly. The looming imagine in her mind of that malicious beast at her doorstep caused her heart to clench violently. This was no longer a game, she realized. This was very, very real. And very, very dangerous now. The threat of life, and limb was upon her as surely as the sun would rise every morning with the dawn.

As much as she despised her husband, and could rarely keep from wishing for his unexpected and obviously accidental separation from his mortal coil, Narcissa knew the man would not risk his sole heir to the whim of a wild and malevolent Dragon. It could mean the very end of the legacy of his House, and since it seemed he was willing to place her in a position where her life, too, was in forfeit, she needed to find surety that Lucius meant to protect Draco in some way.

She shook the notion from her head, physically. She'd begun pacing her rooms as the thought, wringing her delicate hands as she poured through her thoughts. The Lady allowed her magic to roam freely through her rooms, casting it out into waves around her that moved furniture, and levitated vases and the like. It was a scene of complete chaos surrounding herself as she continued to whip herself into a frenzy.

No. It would not to do try to bring these concerns to Lucius. Not only would it reveal to him her deceits of feigned ignorances, but Lucius was not one to suffer any notion that Narcissa was anything more than an empty-headed heiress that had been married off to him as a brood-mare. Her insolences had been met in many times past with beatings that had left her all but broken, and now was not the time to have his concept of her come crashing down around his ears. No, no; Lucius was not to be entrusted with their son's safety, this would have to fall to her.

Her remembrance as to Tom's suggestion suddenly sailed through her conscious, and she realized that the best possible outcome would be if she were to travel to Draco herself, and be accepted as a guest under the ruse of her own loneliness for her child. Certainly the Gresham's would concede to such a concession, she wondered.

Her decision made, Narcissa summoned writing materials with her magic, and with her elegant script, crafted a letter to send to Tanner in Brandwell again with tidings of her hopes to travel to see Draco for yule celebrations. She did not dare make mention that the massive form of a wild red Dragon was gracing her front yards at the moment, understanding fully that should her letter be intercepted, her life would certainly be forfeit from the treason alone.

Her delicate mouth turned up in a smile as she mirthfully realized that, if she were to go, it would be the first time since she had become a married woman and Lady to a House, that there might be the possibility of seeing joyous celebrations that she had often experienced as a younger girl.

Yule was a time to celebrate the changing of the deepest darkness of days as the sun would linger further from that point forward, and the slow return to the fertile seasons that would await them in the months they looked forward to. Her smile crept up to her eyes as she remembered garlands of holly, and mistletoe that were strung in the Halls of her family when she was a little girl. How the candles would flicker their dancing lights over the decorations that were hung from the trees that had been brought indoors, and how she and her sisters would string garlands of berries and suet around the fir trees for the little winter birds, and would hear the birdsong in the morning with joy as they feasted on the bounty left for them.

Such joys she remembered had all but been lost to her in the long and lonely years she had left her home, and assumed the mantle of Lady Malfoy. But she had done her duty, and been rewarded with the comforts and benefits that she saw fit to take for herself, because it was not her Lord Husband who would have offered them to her.

Her quill flew across the page excitedly, and she blew gently along the ink in her haste to get the letter out to her mysterious correspondent. The sooner he knew, the sooner they could come up with a plan to secure her through the House Gresham, so that she would not have to come back.

 **Xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Tom sent the pile of letters scattering, and scoffed in disgust. None of them had any of the information he had hoped they would, and Lucius could see Tom's frustration plainly writ upon his face. And while it was not any fault of his own that his son's letters were clipped and lacked any hint of intrigue, he had begun to formulate in his consciousness that it was, perhaps, a very unwise idea to anger a man who had come modicum of control over a wild Dragon.

Tom's eyes conveyed his growing fury, and Lucius discovered that the only thing he had to offer was his stammering. It was an unwise combination and he knew it.

"This is all? All the letters you have received?" Tom demanded.

"This is everything." Lucius assented.

"So Draco mentions nothing anywhere in regard to the golden Dragons?" Tom questioned, though more for his own verbal edification than from need of confirmation from Lucius. Tom felt an urgency creep into him that felt strangely unlike himself, and he rubbed at where it had appeared within his physical person, somewhere within his chest. Seeing the focused act, Lucius looked to Tom.

"Is there something amiss, Tom?" He asked his compatriot, and Tom realized that he'd been making a spectacle of his person as he'd tended to the tension beneath his breastbone like some worrying woman.

"Yes Lucius, there are indeed things amiss." Tom spat, and he balled his hands into fists at his sides. "First, Nott withheld the location of the reds for weeks after he'd found it. Did you know?" He'd asked more conversationally than he had been expecting an actual answer, and Lucius balked. "Then the bastard planted information with Avery to get the Carrows to go on a wild goose chase in an area completely unrelated." He did all but stomp his foot like a child at the last statement, but continued.

"Much time has already been wasted, and we are still no closer to our objectives of successfully bringing the Guild Houses under our control." Lord Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and returned to his chair. "So many moons wasted, Lucius, with all these political agendas I have to contend with. And all for what? To delay the inevitable? I knew well with Nott, but yet gave him the window to produce his findings, yet he did not. And what advantage did that give him?" Tom's voice had risen considerably as he worked himself up further. "He threw Avery and the Lestranges off from accomplishing what none of them could have dared; to acquire a wild Dragon."

Lucius held his fingertips in a steeple beneath his chin as he watched Tom's ranting from his chair. The man's dark hair, so coifed and the picture of perfect Lordly arrogance, had shifted in slight disarray giving him a roguish look. Tom narrowed his eyes and looked at Lucius pointedly.

Tom bit back the statement on the tip of his tongue that the Dragon had mentioned that it could eat him, should it care to. Exposing his position of weakness, even with Lucius who was admittedly, the most loyal Lord to Tom's cause within the collection of Houses United. But even he was still a cowardly slug, and Tom couldn't feel confident that Lucius would not use that at some future point.

Tom slumped back in his chair, his gaze focused on Lucius. "I want you to summon the Carrow's to travel to the Houses of Harben and Abildgaard. Time is of the essence for us, and we need to start picking up speed." Lucius produced parchment to writ out the command. "And sent a letter to Lord Gresham. Bid him permit you to send your wife to her son, as she feels the keen pain of his absence in the face of the holiday celebrations. Let us not see if we can move her into position so that we might strike at the Heart of the Guild Houses and press onward with putting them in their proper place, don't you think?" Tom's smile returned, along with his smooth and suggestion-like commands. It gave Lucius a moment of hesitation as he could see Tom smooth his hair in one motion, reclaiming his poise and usual manner, as though his earlier outburst had been nothing to deem noteworthy.

Everything about this meeting had unsettled Lord Malfoy, though some aspects more than others. He'd never seen Lord Riddle lose control of his temper in such an erratic and scattered way. It was unusual, very much. While the Lord did not specifically have affection of his wife, Narcissa, she did still retain some use to him. _On occasion, at least._ But this hasty meeting in the shadow of the great wild beast that lay in wait at his literal doorstep…. Lucius wanted to shutter at the notion.

Having hatched a scheme to locate wild Dragons had been one thing, but finding one and bringing it back had proved entirely another. Lucius steeled his thoughts, certain that if he had them too loudly Lord Riddle would smell his deceit from where he sat.

Lucius and Thoros had both discovered what treachery was written in ancient hands about the race of red Dragons, and had unobtrusively agreed that the prospect should inevitably fall to one of myth and legend, and that Lord Riddle should never find them. The sacrifices, it appeared, were much too devastating.

It seemed that Thoros' ability to conceal that information had proven….. Unsuccessful. Lucius' eyes darted to Tom and back to his writings. Was that why he had not heard from Thoros in these last weeks? Tom had uncovered their deception, certainly, by what he had said, but what of Thoros? Lucius made note to himself mentally to call upon the House of Nott at his next moment of privacy to take counsel with Thoros.

As he finalized his letter and made to melt the wax of his Houses seal, his mind wandered back to the bout of pandering that had been interrupted not so much earlier on, and he mentally noted to have his valet locate that specific bounty for him for a later hour.

Being the Lord certainly was not without its privileges.


	20. Chapter 20

**Ok, so I was expecting to have no time for this, but the mood struck me, and I found that I had the time to write this unexpectedly, so here we are! I do hope that FF is accepting my new attempts at formatting these chapters.  
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 **I'm so, SO glad the last chapter was enjoyed. I cannot lie that I have F.U.N. writing some aspects of Lucius. Oh my.**

 **Your reviews bring me unending joy! They really do! Thank you all for the time you take to leave them.**

 **On we go!**

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 **Chapter 20**

Every day since Theodore and Draco had arrived in to the House of Gresham, the two had found that their days, while arduous, were filled with tranquility that had been joined with laughter and pleasure. It had bled into them, slowly. At first there had been snickers at jokes told by the siblings, or jibes mentioned by the Lady herself. Most of the time the young men would cover their mouths, or try to keep their masks of indifference in place.

Through the months they had been here, those attempts had simply melted away, little by little. It was Theodore, who Lady Ursa had gingerly and lovingly begun to call "Theo", that had been the first to find the crack in his own armor. The laugh he'd belted out had been like the breaking of a dam, long strained and wishing itself to free the waters it trapped within.

It hadn't been very long after that Theo, though not part of the House in a proper sense, had been cleanly wrapped into the folds of laughter, and later; little pranks and less-mature titterings back and forth. The serious veneers of their fellows only returning into place when it was time to practice their dueling, conjuring, defenses or other lessons in magic and combat.

Today the very air in the Gresham household was vibrating with a happiness that both Draco and Theo had come to feel dancing along their skin every moment they lived in this place. Every single denizen within the walls of the castle seemed to have a little extra bounce in their step, and a little bit brighter smile on their faces as they passed each other, speaking words of morning, and good-tide to the other. For this day marked the great day of Lammas.

Following their normal, yet informal morning meal, the group found themselves with a sudden change in their normal and regimented schedule as Ursa stood, the sole head of House present, to direct their little troupe. Her smile was wide, as always, welcoming and warm.

"This day we recognize as a day of celebration and veneration, to be marked as the beginning of the harvest season and the cycle of rebirth." Hermione and Tyt'o listened intently to their mother, as did Draco, Theo and their two tutors who had joined them: Masters Black and Mora.

"To mark our festivities, the Masters Black and Mora have agreed to adjourn your practices to allow us our celebrations for this day and the 'morrow." Hermione and Tyt'o's faces both broke out into smiles as they glanced at each other. Hermione grabbed her brother's hands in hers and wiggled like a giddy little child. Ursa smiled as well as she continued on. "As it is so close to the clutching, his Lordship has allayed our traditional festival and Aonach Tailteann Games until year-next. He and I feared that too many incoming into the valley would disconcert the Dragons at their nest. We will revel instead by taking to the forests around us to collect bounties, and bring an altar of blessings at Dragon's Tears. Then, upon the eve we will feast and revel here in at the House."

Hermione elbowed her brother next to her and muttered at him. "Looks like you'll have another full turn of the seasons before you're able to prove yourself better than I in a race, brother-mine." Tyt'o scowled at his sister, and she fought him off by smiling serenely. Until it had been clear that a hatching was going to commence, and the normal festivities to mark their yearly celebrations would be postponed until the year following, Tyt'o had been conspiring with their father as to which Houses among the Guild had any yet unmarried young women in them.

His sister knew that quite well, and had promised him under no certain terms was she going to let him win easily in any competition, lest of all to impress any visiting damsels. Tyt'o rolled his eyes petulantly at her implication, and poked her in the side. Hermione twitched but made no noise as to alert their mother that they'd digressed so disrespectfully.

Draco and Theo had now been under the roof of the House for long enough to be able to tell when the two Gresham siblings were starting to go after each other. The pair of them were insatiable in their competition with the other, but had been reprimanded so many times over all their youthful years that their incessant pestering of the other just got more subtle. While Theo had recently appointed himself the Mighty Settler of All Disputes as a form of mediator, Draco had decided it was much more fun to watch than to try to stop.

Ever since the night he'd unwittingly chased Hermione though the House and had spied her in her spellbindingly intimate state, he'd found that no matter what Hermione was doing, it was best watched au natural, and the livelier, the better. Using the guise of cool observation, Draco had unabashedly decided that he would use that façade as a shelter to watch her every movement. The way her eyes would crinkle when she laughed, how her cheeks would dimple slightly when her dusky pink lips smiled. The bouncing curls of her hair and how it positively shone when she whipped it over her shoulder.

He'd take these images he had collected and committed to memory throughout the daytime and bring them along with him, as secreted treasures, into his rooms every single night. Each night he would play them back for himself as he caressed himself, and moaned her name reverently as he thought only of her and all of her lustrous beauty.

In the increasingly more frequent chances during the days when they would be pared for sparing, or he was able to justify standing close to her while Master Black lectured, he found that the quality of these materials increased dramatically to the point where he had begun strategizing more opportunities to casually insert himself within her personal sphere of influence. Though while he was certain neither Theo nor Tyt'o suspected any sort of deviation on his part, he still monitored their expressions carefully when he was working out the little dance he did around her.

Today, just as much as any of the days previous, Hermione was captivating. Even in a way that should have surprised him, but it didn't. While her mother was a paragon of poise and beauty, as was Draco's own mother, Hermione herself was so comfortably disposed, and permitted even, to continue to sport breeches and doublets as though she were a young page, and not a budding Lady of the House. Draco counted his blessings on this, as with a normal Lady she would have been forbidden to dress so unseemly. The Malfoy heir had concluded that being privy to the shaped of her lower half was something he would never be thankless for.

Ursa's voice, while sweet and kind, was still possessed of a command, and Draco heeded it then as he broke his little daydream. "Your tutors have even agreed to provide their blessings to the traditional gifts to the deities of the fields, to the God Lugh. It is my wish that all of us take to the out of doors and procure the bounty we will bring the Dragon Tears."

The table around all agreed, with happy voices and pleasant recognitions. Even the stern face of Rune Mora, usually pinched with concentration and severity, seemed lighter than it had been. The seated fellowship rose together, and with excited clamor made way to the stables forthwith to gain mounts. Their procession was gay in countenance as Theo and Tyt'o laughed at a joke Sirius had made, and Hermione had fallen back to take the elbow of her mother, smiling to her. Ursa took her free hand, and stroked her daughter's curls lovingly. Their smiles speaking everything to each other of love and happiness, though they said nothing.

Once the procession of seven had saddled, they trotted their mounts frivolously down the road to one of the paths into the woods. Having a sudden surge of sprightly frolic, Theo spurred his horse into a canter as he called out to Tyt'o in a good-natured challenge. The Gresham heir met the call by urging his steed on to catch him, and not to be left behind, Draco followed. Ursa and Hermione watched as the trio of men did their best to position their mounts in the forerun, and though they couldn't see who the victor was, from the laughing and playful shoves they saw between the riders, it was clear that it wasn't important.

Sirius, who had kept his horse at a leisurely walk, moved his roan gelding over to Ursa, smiled and looked at her. Hermione had long since brought her animal to a rapid trot to catch herself up to the men, and not be left so far behind. "It bring me happiness to see that youth be not wasted on the young here, beneath the roof of your House, my Lady." He said, grinning after the four riders, who were all heading up the slope eagerly into the steep hill paths to collect their offerings. Ursa smiled her own agreement back to him.

"'Tis good that they be allowed to enjoy the young years, truly." She stated, and her brow creased for a moment. "They fly by us soon enough." He caught her frown, and Sirius moved his horse closer to hers, and touched her elbow. Without thinking about the reaction, Ursa pulled her arm away as his very touch sharply reminded her what had happened the last time.

Sirius raised his hands in show of his release. "My Lady?" He asked, and Ursa looked at Sirius fully, and with horror.

"Master Black," she started, with much chagrin in her voice. "My, my apologies to you. I didn't mean- You didn't-" She tried again, and Sirius turned his closes hand up to her in supplication.

"My dearest Lady, you have nothing to be discomfited over. It was my offence, and I beg your indulgence of my lack of manners." He smiled, genuinely smiled. "It is as if the festivities of the day have caused me to forget myself and my reverence of your person." Ursa smiled and calmed a little at that.

"Master Black-" She began.

"Sirius." He corrected, and she shot a dark eyebrow up in question. "I insist, on a day such as today. It _is_ the great celebration of Lammas, is it not? Let us drop these titles, if just for a moment, that we might unburden ourselves of the pressures of pretenses." He leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper, as though it were some great secret he was to reveal. "I won't tell, if you don't."

Ursa laughed fully. "Sirius, then," She began again. "I should not have flinched so. You do comport yourself as a gentleman, and I should not have assumed you so crudely." He nodded his head, as though agreeing halfheartedly.

"I accept your apologies then, Ursa." He paused, for effect. "But I must tell you that the slight on my person has wounded me." He waited as shock registered on her face.

"Truly?"

"Without question, good Lady. I fear that the only thing that will bring remedy is reparations. Official reparations." His tone had grown haughty and disdainful. Ursa was suddenly aware that, in fact, her reaction had not been very polite at all, and Master Black could have easily taken an offence. Her bronze eyes grew wide and her face paled slightly. Sirius barreled onward with his charade. "As the sole member of name, and the Ancient and Noble House of Black, I fear that the only reparations that can be acceptable will be-" mid-sentence, he reached to his side, and produced a wide-blooming pink wildflower, and presented it between them. "-That you accept this gift on our day of thanks, and wear it in your hair."

Ursa's dismay disappeared, and a shy smile crept onto her face. "Shall I place it in your hair, Lady?" He offered, softly, and she found herself nodding in agreement. Sirius smiled gently and leaned toward her, situating the little flower in the twist of her hair that travelled behind her ear and secured near the nape of her neck. In her brown hair, the pink flower stood our beautifully. "Lovely." Whispered Sirius.

"Thank you, Sirius." Ursa said, softly, and righted her body. She could sense him still looking at her, though she kept her eyes to the front her as they two had approached the forking paths the four youths had encountered some moments before, and turned their horses to follow up the mountain path.

As she made to turn her horse, Sirius reached over to her and clasp his hand over hers. Ursa gave a soft gasp in surprise, and her eyes moved from his hand to his face to see that his expression had changed to one of great concern. "I see you, my Lady." He said simply.

Ursa was frozen in her place, unsure of what either he meant, or what she should say. What his implication meant, or what she assumed it meant. The sober expression on his face did not waiver. "I see how you suffer, Ursa." The Lady broke her eyes away from Sirius's and looked down at his hand over hers, and felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her person. His hand reached up and cupped her chin gently, bringing her face upward once more. "No, my Lady. Do not ever feel that you need to look away." His voice softened to a whisper. "Do not allow yourself to languish, good Lady. You are made of stronger stuff than you may ever know, and you should not be made to endure any miseries."

His gray eyes were both earnest, but still soft as his words soaked into her. _He knew._ She realized, and before she could register that her eyes contained any tears, she felt them dripping down her cheeks without restraint. _How could he know?_ She thought to herself. Sirius took his fingers from her chin, and wiped away the river from one of her cheeks, and then slowly tended to the other. "You forget, good Lady, that I am Sirius Black. I know better than any other what suffering looks like."

Though the rivers he wiped away were replaced again by the tears she shed, he did not break her gaze, and she did not break hers. Even as her lower lip trembled, she did not feel fear nor vulnerability, and Sirius could see that. Without anything else, he wrapped as much of his arms around her, drawing her into him in a fierce hold in the circle of his strong arms. As he held her, he demanded nothing, he said nothing. He only let her tears cascade from her eyes to release the anxiety and strain she had been under since that fateful day in Loren's study.

As she calmed herself, and her breathing returned, she straightened her back in a silent pleas for him to release her, and Sirius obliged without pressure. She used the hem of her long layers of dress to dab gentle to her face, and Sirius smiled earnestly to her.

"When I said we should lighten our burdens, my Lady, I hadn't realized it would open a flood gate for you." He joked, and Ursa laughed a little at his levity, her voice a little pinched from the tears she'd shed.

"Thank you Sirius." She said solemnly, and touched his hand. His returned smile spoke of acceptance and understanding, and though they said nothing further as they led their horses on to the path, the silence between them was perfect as it was.

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With a final flick of her wrist, the end of the juvenile tree switch was perfect, and Hermione tucked her short blade back into the sheath at her waist. Carefully she twisted the length of the ash branch into a circle as she lifted it to her head to measure as she created a twisting circle. Satisfied with the size she twisted its ends into the branch again and again until it formed a crown of leaves over her brow. She smiled and took the next branch and repeated it.

While she twisted, Hermione strode purposefully to her brother, who knelt with Theo in the dirt as the two drug up a wild onion. Lovingly, she placed the crown at the top of her brother's head and Tyt'o looked up at Hermione to find his sister placing a kiss to his forehead. "Good Lammas, brother." She said, and he smiled back to her.

"Good Lammas, sister-sweet." He returned as she was already fashioning her third crown of twig and leaves, taking great care to mind that she did not shear them off as she twisted and she placed the third on top of Theo's head, and kissed his cheek gently.

"Good Lammas, Theodore." She said to him as well, and he returned her blessing.

From further back, Draco had walked through the bushed where he had found and gathered wild berries and a few nuts into a kerchief to bring safely on their trip to see Hermione leaning into Theo to place her lips to his face. Without any context, he found himself glaring at Theo openly as the man grinned and gave her blessing.

He stepped forward, feeling more than annoyed as he strode past towards his horse. Hermione paid him no mind as he passed, and he felt his irritation rise even further. He placed his parcel at the horn of his saddle to secure it and grabbed for his gloves in a huff. As he swing his arm around, he found his arm connected with something and spun himself around.

Hermione's bright smile was before him then, and without waiting for him to respond, she placed the fourth crown atop of his head, and leaned up to his greater height and placed a kiss to his cheek. Her lips were warm, and just lightly moist, and as sweet as a cloud. Draco felt his eyes begin to close as he soaked in the feeling of her touching him; her soft hands over his forearm, and the other steadying herself on his bicep. Gods did she smell so sweet, and as she backed away, Draco realized that she had lingered there a few seconds longer than strictly necessary. He looked at her copper eyes, and while she wasn't smiling for him as she did for Theo, he could see that she was breathless.

"Good Lammas, Draco." She whispered, and then smiled shyly as she released his arm. Draco could swear that it took a half hour for her hands to finally lift from him, but he knew that was only because he was swimming in the pools of her eyes as she finally turned away.

As she did, much to his mortification, Draco felt a familiar strain at the joining of the legs of his trousers and quickly turned back to his horse to tend to some imaginary problem with his saddle.

From further out of the woods, the gentle thudding of hoofs reached the group as Ursa and Sirius finally found the foraging band. Usra smiled brightly, seeing how industrious they had been, taking note of the crown on her daughters head, and the heads of the three young men. Hermione waved, the last three switches she had cut tucked beneath her arm. "I am never surprised at how busy you two keep yourselves, my wondrous children!" She exclaimed. "I am only thankful that our two friends are just as motivated as you are."

Theo smiled at Ursa as he pulled another wild onion top from the ground and dashed off the dirt that clung to it. "We have onion to weave into garlands." He waved to her, and tossed it into the pile.

"Ash branches!" Hermione pipped up as she finished her next crown.

"Berries and nuts." Draco said over his shoulder.

"Bread and honey." Sirius added, and patted a pouch at his side.

Ursa raised her hands and laughed. "It's as if you need me not at all here!" She joked, and Hermione bounded to her joyously, pulling at her draping sleeve. Ursa dismounted her horse and pulled Hermione into a bone-crushing embrace. Her daughter giggled, and pried her arms out to place her crown atop Ursa's head.

"Good Lammas, mamma." She said, and kissed her mother's cheek. Ursa sighed happily and kissed Hermione's in return.

"Good Lammas, my little blessing." She whispered, and released her. Hermione picked up her last twitch and took to twisting one final crown for Sirius. Ursa looked around her at the four young people who had jumped so eagerly into their efforts with pride. She looked back at Sirius and he gave her a smile in time to have Hermione reach up to him on horseback to hand him his crown. The Master Warlock bent down to accept it and Hermione's lips barely brushed his cheek as she blessed him as well.

With everyone adorned such, Ursa gathered the lot of them and their offerings to bring with them, and they mounted their houses and walked them down the forest path.

The forest grew thicker and more enclosed as they moved further inward, and soon the horses were following in a single line with Ursa at the front. The path had grown thicker in the final months of the summer, and was now overflowing with green vegetation, and a thick cloud of magic that could be felt in the air, like there were clouds that had strayed down from the sky.

A humming of wings sounded as a little zigzagging light passed just by Tyto's ear, and whizzed along merrily. As his horse's flank disturbed a bush as the side, an outpouring of dancing fae folk of miniscule stature soared out and into the air around them, dancing as they flew about.

Theo and Draco looked around them in awe, like two children at the sight of magic for the first time. Their mouths were agape as they watched the tiny forest spirits all around them, creating stars that danced in the forest everywhere they looked. Lights of green and blue, purples and pinks, all playing in the air, darting around all over.

The magic was much thicker than it was the last time they were there, they realized. It settled over their shoulder like a thick quilt that couldn't be shaken. And despite how heavy it felt, it caused their limbs to tingle endlessly as though little fae feet were walking all over them.

The two gawped about in wonder while their procession continued, watching as the clouds of sprites of various breeds and types danced without fear in the presences of these interlopers into their habitat. It wasn't long before the sound of water became clear, and the path narrowed one final time signaling the gate to their destination.

Ursa dismounted first, and loosely tied her mount to a tree. Each rider in turn secured their horses gently to allow them slack to nibble on any morsels they could reach while they waited patiently, and each person in turn followed into the open area where the little falls had once lived.

The opening to the wooded area seemed different to Theo this time. The water, which had once been little more than a trickle at the first visit, was now a healthy and flowing stream that splashed merrily as it dashed about on the rocks below. The mist that had once filled the pocket now carried what appeared to be flickering lights that floated endlessly all around them as well.

Through the stream of water, endless rows of little fairy people danced, and dove, and rejoiced in their mirth, taking absolutely no notice to the intruders upon their merriment. Theo and Draco were overwhelmed at the sight all around them in this purely magical place. Hermione and Tyt'o had told them about Dragon magic, but this felt like something that was out of a dream!

Seeing their continued wonder, Ursa placed her hand on Theo's shoulder as she too, took in the wonders around her. Theo looked to Ursa, and he smiled again for her as well. She leaned down and untied the boots from her leg, and Theo looked around at the company to see that everyone but He and Draco were all doing the same thing.

Hesitantly, the youth followed suit, as did his companion. Ursa beckoned Theo and Draco to her. "Which of the year were you born?" She asked.

"Past Imbolc, my Lady." Theo responded.

"Before Midsummer, my Lady." Draco offered, and Ursa nodded to Theo.

"You are eldest here, then, and an honored guest of our House. Come, take my hand." Ursa offered her hand, and the group followed into the creek bed with soft sand and rounded soft rocks. The water was cool on his feet and Theo suddenly realized the reason they had removed their footwear. He looked down at the water he stood in and saw that it was crystal clear, even though each foot kicked up a little dusting of sand, it settled quickly and remained as clear as could be.

Standing to the side of the falling water, the mist in the air began coating them with wet, and Ursa leaned her cupped hands into the waters. Filling them with water, she brought her hand to Theo and nodded for him to partake her offering. He sipped from the cup that was her hands, and she smiled.

"Our mother is this Earth, and we give thanks for the bounty you have supplied. For grains, beans, vegetables and greens. For fruit, seeds, and honey, we give thanks for you. You sustain us with your bounty. So Mote It Be."

The water that Theo had drank grew warm and filled him with endless waves of tingling and washed of magic as it entered his body. The sensations were glowing and comforting within him, and he closed his eyes in silent prayer in his own thanks. Ursa touched his shoulder and he left to join the circle once her blessing was finished.

As Draco watched the ritual before him, he followed the exchange of blessings and Ursa's kind expression on the young man who had, in these months, become his true friend. Her tender expression spoke of the affection a mother had for her children, and yet the way he saw it given to Theo, Draco knew it was genuine.

As Theo made to move back to the circle they had all formed, Draco felt the slighted tickle in the palm of his hand and he twitched it involuntarily. He looked down to see that Hermione stood beside him, his movement causing her to look at him, and realized it was _her._ Without missing a beat he slipped his hand around hers and held her eyes for a second. She squeezed gently and released him, giving her head a jerk toward his mother. Draco fought to keep the grin from creeping up at his lips that he wanted to unleash, but he walked forward to Ursa trying to tamp it down. Ursa's expression was knowing and calm, and Draco hoped that she had not taken notice.

The Lady of the House made four more offerings and four more blessings, each harnessing the magic in the wood that lingered there as a result of the presence of the Dragons within their lands. Each recipient was filled with the lingering and floating bliss that came with imbibing pure magic from the Earth. Once finished, the group quietly stepped away from the falls and creek and on a broad rock that seemed innocuous enough at first, they lay a cloth that Ursa unwrapped from her person that had appeared as part of her dress. Each person in turn laying their offering to it and speaking a prayer of thanks, and of blessing, and of bounty.

When each were done, they looked to each other happily and donned their shoes to return to their horse and make their way back to the castle. As each person mounted and returned to the single-animal path, it was circumstance that left only Draco and Hermione together at the very end.

Not certain they should fall too far behind, Draco made to offer his hand to Hermione to help her atop her animal, when he found that instead of the normal boost of momentum she would have made, her hand rested simply in his, and her eyes had met his expectantly.

Looking at her had become painful today, Draco realized. He'd spent too much time daydreaming while watching her, and needed in desperation to make his way back to his rooms for relief. His young imagination had already been playing all day long, and he yearned to be able to find peace in himself so he would not fidget so greatly. This was not helping.

Hermione's expression did not waver; she looked as though she were studying something, or searching for something. As Draco was about to open his mouth to speak, she leaned in, and up toward him, and placed her soft pink lips on top of his, and held them there.

Frozen in place, and unable to close his eyes, Draco watched as her eyelids threatened to close, and her lush eyelashes batted a moment shyly. _Gods of the Earth and sky, this must be what heaven would be like._ He realized.

Slowly, and seemingly a little confused, Hermione leaned away. Her expression slightly dazed and her lips apart just slightly. Had she truly meant what just happened, Draco wondered, and her spare hand touched her lips in curiosity. A pink flush appeared on her cheeks, and she seemed to come back to the moment because her eyes darted away, and the spell they were under seemed to dissipate. She moved to pull her hand away, and Draco realized that if she did, the moment would be lost forever, and he held it fast before she could.

Her eyes darted up back again to his, and she opened her mouth to make protest, but Draco leaned in to her this time, and brought their lips together again. She gasped a little as he did, and Draco closed his eyes this time and allowed his lips to butterfly against hers once as he lingered there, then a second time as he turned his head just slightly, and Hermione breathed in through her nose softly, and relaxed against him.

Finally, Draco left one last lingering graze between them, brushing his upper lip along her lower one and he opened his eyes slightly. Hers had closed somewhere in the exchange, and her expression had made way to total bliss under his ministrations. Though as soon as their lips parted, her copper eyes fluttered open again.

So closely they stood together that he could feel the heat of her body, and he wished desperately to take her in his arms and feel the length of her along him. She seemed to feel something similar, because her body swayed a bit before she placed her free hand at his chest, and smiled beatifically at him.

It was everything he had been dreaming of her, and so very much more, and Draco smiled back as he touched his forehead to hers.

"The others will wonder…" She whispered to him, and he laughed quietly, and touched her cheek as they rubbed their faces together, eyes never leaving the others. Their hands were still connected, and he squeezed hers.

"Then up we go." He nodded to her animal, and she gave a bounce as she saddled herself atop, waiting for him to do the same. She walked her horse slowly in front, finding that it was harder than she'd thought possible to take her eyes off his, and more so to get the grin from her face as well.

From behind her on his own horse, Draco found that he had the same problem.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Whew! So this chapter needed to be broken up into two. So hopefully I can get the second section out pretty soon here.**

 **Notes about Lammas:**

 **Ash trees are associated with good fortune**

 **Onion, berries, nuts, grapes, corn, bread and honey are traditionally offerings to the pagan god, Lugh, whom I've decided was a fitting feel seeing as this is a medieval setting, and there's magic and all that.**


	21. Chapter 21

**The second half of Lammas! More merriment and celebration! But oooo, I'm a liar about my update schedule, aren't I? Liar, liar, pants on fire. Oh well.**

 **Take note: some themes here might be considered R-rated.**

 **Chapter 21**

As if to prove that the warm season wasn't yet over, the weather maintained the perfect agreeability throughout. Though not much time overall had been invested in bringing the troupe into the woods to forage for the offerings and for Ursa to bless each of them, it was not yet midday when Hermione and Draco's horses emerged onto the main road where the rest of them waited.

The duo had truly not been more than a few horse lengths behind the others, and had rallied their expressions appropriately by the time the joined the others. Though, that was not to say that the two of them didn't share a few glances at the other while they headed up the rear of the company. Hermione had, most interestingly, even elicited a few muffled giggles. Draco had discovered that the sound drove him positively wild, and riding a horse that distance was of no help in his plight of frustration.

Paying the two little mind, for the group was all occupied with their own thoughts, and their own devisings; the mood of everyone had maintained the lighthearted air to it. Truly, it must have been a day of festivity for not a one of them seemed preoccupied with anything other than finding some manner in which to make merry.

"There are some hours yet in the day, my nestlings. You will not have to return to the House until the feast." Ursa informed them encouragingly. Tyt'o and Hermione looked at each other and their faces lit up like children. Being offered _freedom_ was rare, indeed. At least, it had been over these warm months.

Their mother noted their exuberance and chuckled. "Ensure you return in time to clean up and make ready for the celebrations, dear hearts."

The four of them needed no additional encouraging, and the siblings nodded their respectful understanding to their mother, and motioned together to Theo and Draco to follow. Within a few seconds, the four of them had their horses running, _full-tilt,_ out and away down the road.

"And where would you supposed they would be off to, My Lady?" Sirius questioned, and Ursa sighed.

"Most of the time, Hermione and Tyt'o will try to see if they can't navigate the paths up to the start of the reaches. They've spend the whole summer searching for the paths into the mountains."

"I'm not certain I understand, Lady. Why would they be hunting out the path? Isn't it clearly marked for them?" He queried, and Ursa shook her head. The two horses they sat astride set a lazy path in return back to the House.

"There are many paths into the upper mountain reaches that will lead a traveler, but only one that will take them to where the Dragons nest. They have to navigate the labyrinth of those paths in order to find them."

"How will they know when the time comes for them to leave?"

"In truth Sirius, I could not say. There has not been a hatching in mine of my Lord's lifetimes. It is written that there will be a calling to them, Tyt'o and Hermione. Though I am not certain if Theo or Draco would be able to hear as well….." She paused. "They are not family directly, and it has been an age since a man rode a gold Dragon that was not a Gresham by blood."

Sirius took the information in solemnly. Having taught for the Gresham's for many years, it was one thing to have been familiar with their House, and their dynamics, but it was not often he had a chance to speak of the Dragons, nor of matters that did not pertain immediately to the children themselves. Much was it the same with his other pupils as well; there was simply no windows available for socializing and cavorting for the sole purpose of pleasure.

The black haired Warlock smiled at his Lady companion on her horse, and the Lady smiled back at him as well.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Rune's calloused hands rubbed at her temples in frustration as she tried to clear her head. Her stocky and strong legs felt prickly up and down from having been crossed for so long, that they lacked blood flow now, and she stretched them with a muffled groan. She was no spring chicken anymore, she knew, but it still annoyed her that her bones had begun to creak, and she felt the occasional aches in her joints after long meditation.

The Necromancer sighed deeply and leaned back on her elbows as she stretched further along the blanket beneath her. It had been month since she had had privacy and quiet, such was the life of one who resided in a House where there were more happy voices than solemn ones, which was, she rationalized, better than residing in one where the residents were oppressed with dark thoughts. It was all about the little blessings, she agreed internally.

She opened her eyes, and brought her hands to her face. _Her vision._ She recounted. _Why would the powers have shown this to her?_ She further pondered. _What significance did this play at this point?_ Rune Mora had spent the majority of her life delineating and deciphering the whispers the magics she conjured spoke to her, and the visions she conjured to divine the fates and futures. There were some times they made sense, and other times she found that she needed to seek out further pieces to the puzzle she was looking at.

But Rune was nothing, if not patient. She had not been calling upon and manipulating her powers for the decades of her life if she was not prepared to understand their methodologies. She would learn the purpose, in time, she was certain.

The image of the young woman she had seen; dark haired and dark eyed, weeping in the shame of her agony. Wishing there were some means of escape. It wasn't the first time Rune had borne witness to the sighs of the abuses of women at the hands of man. She was _well aware_ of what the hands of men were capable of, and how their minds could become twisted. She had always grinned in her victory that the fates had deigned to spare her any interest in the haven of a man's arms, particularly when the arms of a woman were so much more blissful.

Nevertheless, the vision of the young woman, so abused and isolated, was sad indeed to see. Rune knew that there was nothing that could be done for the wretch that was this girl, for what she saw was not present; it was already past. It had brought her hope that despite the unending sorrow she saw the girl experiencing, and the pleading she had done to the powers to save her, that her wish was granted. Granted in the form of a coachman, who in his adoration for the girl, swept her into his arms and the protection of his love, and took her away from her pain.

Rune Mora made to sit fully, and end her resting fully. She pushed the vision from her mind, for the time being, but mentally agreed that she would ponder on it again, when the next moment presented itself to her. And, perhaps if the powers deemed it, she would be bestowed further vision of what this meant.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Afternoon had arrived and had begun to bleed slowly into the falling of the sun at the horizon, and the House was positively trembling with activity from the staff that hurried delightedly as they readied the Great Hall for the evening's celebrations. The Hall had been cleaned meticulously, and the long table set with fine linens in rich oranges, reds, and greens; the colors of the harvest and of bounties.

The best pieces of crockery were brought out, as were goblets of crystal and fine utensils. All items were arranged in perfect unity with the table, and were attended with pride by the House staff. This was, as they had always experienced, a day for celebration for all who lived here with the Gresham's, not explicitly for the family themselves.

The four wayward youths had spent their hours of freedom roaming lazily through the forests, gathering berries to eat, and picking flowers like children again. The had spent long hours trading stories about their young years, and speculations about when the hatching would come, as they were all now certain it would be soon.

Hermione and Tyt'o had told their two foster siblings many tales of the Dragons of the old years, and explained much of the lore they had cut their teeth on as the earliest stories from their nursery years. Theo and Draco had traded those stories of old, for their own tales from the earliest recorded years of their own Houses. Years past when the great Houses had not warred, but had experienced lasting peace over many centuries past. Not like how it was now, with tensions high and tempers flaring easily. D

The four had made their way back to the Keep when the sun in the sky had reached its three quarter position; dutifully returning back to make ready and bathe the grime they had amassed in their jubilations. Each took care to clean their person meticulously in mark of the feast, finding that oils and soft cloths with fresh sweet soap had been brought to their rooms already.

Upon her arrival Ursa had knocked softly to Hermione's door to be invited in enthusiastically; the mother carefully combed out her daughters tangles and helped her wash out her long curls with meticulous care, scrapping her scalp and rinsing it for her several times. Being predisposed to her own waves, Ursa knew from experience how unruly they could become if not cared for properly, and she was silently very thankful that her nearly-grown daughter allowed her to indulge in maternal cares for her, still. As each of her children had grown over the years, they needed her less and less, so to have a window in which she could dote on them, if only a little, Ursa leapt on it.

She added fragrant oils and combed Hermione's hair from the ends to her crown, never pulling or snagging, and the two women spoke softly and happily through the chore. Once she was finished, Ursa kissed her forehead one more time, and gave her privacy behind her dressing screen so she could finish her bath and dry off.

Within several hours, minstrels had arrived and begum playing, and many people had arrived into the Hall to congregate. Ursa herself found herself realizing she was a bit at a loss arriving to the Hall without her husband Loren, and realized that it was the first time in the years of their union that she was without him on such an important celebration.

There were so many years' worth of memories that her mind raced through, as she recounted the year she had reached the part of her pregnancy where Loren had had to have several dresses commissioned for her to fit her growing belly inside. And how, though her ankles had wished to swell, she had danced again and again with her loving husband, through the whole day and night. She remembered their laughter, and tender caresses together through those celebrations; carefree and unburdened.

There was the year that the festival of Aonach Tailteann had been in full swing, and the sounds of horse hoofs had pounded the ground as their riders raced madly to the finish line, while she and Loren had cried out their encouragements for victory.

She smiled to herself then, as she stood on the lee side of the door, tentatively toeing her procession into the Hall before she entered, as the Lady of the House, and without her Lord. Ursa gathered her courage; _I am a Lady,_ she reminded herself. _I have known most of these folk as family for all the years I have been a Gresham._ She felt stronger then, reminding herself who she was. It struck her then, when she entered, that a large part of that definition had to do with her identity as Loren's wife. Which, as it were, was not all of who she was. Certainly that was the mantle she had assumed in matrimony, but she was not only _her Lord's Wife._ She was Ursa Gresham, née Allerton. She was a powerful and brilliant mistress of magic, hailing from the noble line of great scholars of the House Allerton and she could hold her head high knowing that she had no one to account herself to, no one to supplicate to.

Her confidence was clear as she entered, and the music playing faltered as the Lady of the House entered the room. People bowed to her left and right as she swept past in her gown of dark blue and gold embroideries. She waved to the minstrels to continue their merriment and greeted familiar faces with a beatific smile. Tonight, she held herself proudly, and without the same strains she had carried over the last few weeks. Her smile was open and pure, her shoulders proud. Her dark wavy hair had been left brushed until it had gleamed, only two cords pulled back from next to her ears in two braids that met at the back of her head, and joined together to fall down.

As Ursa assumed her seat at the middle of the great table, she noted that as her Lord was not present, hers was the only chair present, and situated directly in the middle. She nodded to herself, accepting that indeed she felt it fitting that she helmed this ship as captain.

Tyt'o and Hermione had already arrived, and together had sat themselves to either side of their mother, both in uncharacteristic shows of propriety. Their mother smiled to both of them and mouthed her thanks that each had assumed their own position without prompt, and without argument. Both of them had taken expert care in their dressing as Tyt'o tawny half-waves were left loose down his shoulder, and he had work his softest white linen short, covered with a golden brown jerkin that had been tooled with subtly embroidered symbols of the harvest right down the middle around the buckles.

Hermione, however, had done something Ursa had never seen before, and had chosen a long green dress with full skirts and sleeves that was meticulously adorned with gold and orange designs at her elbows, hems, and down the middle. The dress cinched delicately with ribbon down her front beneath her bust, and tied elegantly where her hips began, creating a curve inward that her normal jacket and breech pairing never showed. Her curls were shining and lovely and fell just as her mother's did down to the middle of her back, though had considerable more buoyancy to them than Ursa's ever could.

Her daughter's attention to her appearance was noted by the Gresham matriarch sharply, and she gave her daughter a knowing look. Hermione, unable to yet shield herself from her mother's scrutiny with any skill, blushed and looked down, smiling. _It was no coincidence she'd worn the beautiful dress._

Revelers from towns nearby, various vassal families and the families of those who worked in the Gresham House hold all gathered together. Little children dashed and played under the smaller side-tables, laughing madly at their little games. The one thing that was most important today, was that everyone wore smiles.

Titles were laid to the side for the evening, and bows were no longer being presented. There was hugging and laughter among friends, and dancing to the music. As the dishes of food arrived, and drinks were poured, the Gresham's three stood and made their way about their Hall to socialize, and make their own merriment. Hermione had spied a pair of little children who had been poking their heads out from under a table, reaching their hands up across to reach some of the sweet breads at the edge; their deliciously chubby little hands finding nothing but bare table. The young Lady casually walked by, and plucking up two such morsels, knelt down and handed them to the two pilferers with giggles of her own.

After a half a cup of sweet mead, Tyt'o had bid a gentlemanly bow to his mother and offered her his elbow, and led her out to the dancing. The mother accepted it happily, and her heart soared with joy at seeing her son's grace and kindness. It was everything she had ever dreamed he would become, and though he was no longer a boy –in fact it was she who had to look up to keep eyes at his height- She found that she no longer felt as much fear for his future as she once had.

Hermione's secret gift to the two children had spread among the young folk like wildfire, and soon, her skirts were surrounded by tiny people, each asking for the Lady to pluck a sweet for them. Their darling little hands grasping the velvet of her dress with adoring and pleading faces, and Hermione caved to them, quite predictably. As the last of the platter was given away, and the last cherubic face glazed with sweet frosting from their indulgence, Hermione felt on more tug at her right sleeve. She turned to face what she thought was a child, but was instead a man.

She blushed madly, and straightened to stand as she stammered. "Beg pardon, I thought you were another youngling looking for a sweet." Draco smiled.

"Ah, but I am, my Lady." He said, softly so only her ears would hear him. Hermione's blush deepened and she looked away as she fought her smile, becoming acutely aware how very exposed to the public they were. "But I see there are no more sweets to take, so I would take a dance instead." Hermione was able to command herself to turn and place the platter back to the table, and accept Draco's hand as he bought her out to the middle of the room, supplanting themselves in the midst of the other revelers.

Draco raised his hands and she placed her own delicately on top of them. They were warm, and dry, and would fit perfectly in his own if he were able to cup them with his own, but such connectedness was not part of dancing, and Draco felt how acutely they were being watched from all sides as they bowed together and the music picked up. Through each of their moves, he ensured that his position in front of her gave no one any question about their association, but the longer they moved together, and the more their bodies accumulated warmth, the greater the heat poured from her body.

The proximity was intoxicating, and after their second song, Draco felt a tap at his shoulder to find Hermione's brother holding his own hand out invitingly. "May I steal your partner away, friend?" he asked, and begrudgingly, Draco bowed out from their pairing. Though Hermione was delighted to keep dancing, her eyes lingered on Draco as he made to move back out to the edges of the Hall.

"Not so fast." A familiar voice smiled, and Draco found himself sequestered then by Ursa. "We can't have our blood cooling now, the evening has only just begun!" The Lady held his hand out to him, and he accepted with a little bow, and brought his new partner again around as the music played on.

As they turned, parried, bowed, clapped and laughed, Draco could see that Hermione had kept up her lively movements, and though he could now watch her openly now, he glanced her constantly in his periphery.

At the end of a second song, Draco bowed to the Lady of the House, and complimented her on her grace and enthusiasm of movement, and stepped back in search of something cool to drink. Revelers were in all phases of celebration; some seated and eating, some standing with drink, and the remaining covering the area in the middle as they danced. There were so many bodies in the room now that the air was warm and thick. The wooden doors had been propped open, and the glass windows had been released to the fresh air from outside.

Though a gentle breeze carried in occasionally, it could grow stuffy in some places if you stood there long enough. After her fifth dance, Hermione broke from her brother, panting and waving her hand at her face. "Brother, I will sweat this dress clean from my body if I do not stop!" She laughed, and he let her go with a smile.

"Losing your dress at Lammas feast would not do for a Lady." He shot at her, and she smiled saccharinely.

"Only since it is the great feast will I allow you to call me such a wretched word." She sniffed, and poked him in the chest once. Tyt'o's laugh was full, and he bowed in mock formality to her. The youngest Gresham took her leave and collected a goblet with cool water within it, and gulped most unbecomingly. The clamor around her concealed her lack of decorum nicely, and as she was still gasping slightly after such an invigorating dance she didn't feel like paying much mind to being lady-like. Additionally, though her dress was stunning, and she had very secretly never felt more beautiful than she did tonight, it was damned heavy.

She made a mental note that someday, when she was forced under threat of torture and required to wear dresses, they were going to be made with cottons, and never velvet. A wave of warmth washed over her, and she resumed waving her hand at her throat and spied the great doors, ajar and open to the outside. Her goblet still in-hand she made to leave the Hall, but just for long enough to find a balcony she could sit at, and maybe privately draw up the heavy curtains covering her legs. The heat under this garment was growing intolerably high.

Hermione rounded a little corner on her way onward, and though the Hall was well-lit, that same light did not make its way into every little alcove and corner in the House. As she passed one such dark pocket, the flowing corner of her sleeve caught and stopped her in her tracks. As she reached for the caught corner, she came face-to-face with the same smiling face she'd found herself thinking of for most of the day; his hand clasp purposefully around the cloth he gave it a gentle tug towards himself.

Bursting with excitement, Hermione, now-smiling madly, stepped into the little space with Draco and looked up at him. "So this is how the Ladies of the House comport themselves in the midst of great celebrations?" He teased.

"Oh, and how is that?" She tilted her chin up and met him head-on. Draco's smile was without any pretense, as she was standing so close to him in the little space they occupied, it was all he could do to even keep his hands from finding their way to the curve of her waist.

"Why completely without any sense of propriety." Hermione opened her mouth to make a protest –to point out that since his arrival he'd never so much as seen her in a dress, and whom was he to speak of 'propriety' when he had pulled her into a dark alcove while the residents of the House all occupied themselves in celebrations? But her protesting mouth was found, quite suddenly, covered with his own and she gave a little exclamation of surprise as he pulled back his crushing kiss a bit, and softened it more on top of her lips.

His initial assault over quickly, she softened to him, and returned his movements. They were tentative at first, both of them, not really knowing what to do and only learning by what felt the best. It wasn't long before their lips were growing more eager together that Hermione dared, if only for a second, to part her lips slightly. Oh, but gods above, was it like giving a starving man the sight of a warmed meal, and Draco drew in air quickly as he'd felt her breath tickle him along his lips, finding that he wished to fill that void.

He swiping gently at the opening of her mouth with the very tip of his tongue, and their sudden fervor was suspended midair as though they were holding their breaths. The sensation created an electricity that brought this newfound passion between then to a completely different plateau, and she gasped sweetly as she felt her body want to lurch desperately into his. Her noise caused Draco's eyes to nearly roll back into his skull, and he slowly repeated his motion with his tongue, and found that her hands had crept up to his chest to grab at the soft fabric of his jerkin.

"Oooooooh." She whispered into him, and met his tongue for the first time with her own. Slowly, so slowly, they found a new, and entirely deliciously passionate exchange there together. They licked, and caressed and kissed again and again, savoring the taste and feel of each other until their excitement had caused them such ardor that the two of them were panting like crazy.

Draco's hands had snaked over Hermione's shoulders and into her hair as he leaned her back, struggling to contain the need to press himself fully and frontally into her with abandon. She gasped and writhed in turn, unsure why her body danced all over as he kissed her, but delighting in the sensations that surged wildly though her.

Breaking their kisses abruptly, Draco pulled back and righted the Lady in his arms. Their shared breathlessness and excitement left their cheeks flushed, and Hermione's lips looked shiny and plump from lengthy bombardment they'd endured. "I can't stop." He whispered, and she looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

"You just did?" She offered back, and he nodded and stepped back from her slightly.

"I know, but I don't want to stop kissing you." He reasoned, rationalizing for himself aloud. His voice was strained, as were less-gentlemanly parts of him, and he was fighting desperately at the pull within him to push her back into the wall and grind her into it. Such a thing was unseemly, he knew, but his body felt otherwise.

"You don't have to." She whispered, stepping forward to close the gap between them once more. "At least, not yet." She brushed her upper lip over the line of his jaw silkily and watched his eyes close, and he swallowed. She pulled back and gently swept her lips over his again, making the faintest of moans in her mouth as she did. He nearly came undone.

Draco snaked his arms around her, fully, and pulled her into his chest with all his strength. Hermione's smile was crashing into his lips as he kissed her, again and again, and her palms trapped at his chest between them while he lifted her onto her tip-toes as he arched his back. She giggled under his lips and returned his passion with her own.

For a few seconds after they rejoined, their passion marched on until Draco was, again, stepping back only slightly, and broke their kiss again. Their eyes, still closed, he touched his forehead to hers. "You taste like honey." He whispered, and she smiled at his compliment. Though, in all fairness, a staggering amount of mead was being served with their celebrations. But it was most flattering to her ear anyway.

He found her hands with his, and squeezed them tightly. Their eyes locked, and so much less afraid to maintain contact in their newfound familiarity. She licked her lips, and his gaze fell to her mouth and he moaned wantonly. "Gods, I don't want to stop-" He crashed his mouth back upon hers and they fell again back together, their kisses only broken up with their intermittent chuckles.

A roaring laughter sounded from down the hall, though the door, and the pair were reminded that they were not far from the possibility of being detected. Reluctantly, the two wound down for a time, and though breathless again they stood in the same tiny little alcove together, unwilling to break the spell they had woven while they'd secreted away here.

Her eyes glittered with the flickering of candles nearby, and though their stunning color was muted in the dark, Draco had already memorized their hue. He touched her cheek gently and pressed his forehead to hers one more time. "I want to see you one more time tonight, before the night is over." His eyes were hungry, and she mirrored how he felt. "Will you find me again?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "A thousand times, yes!" She flung her arms around his shoulders and his found themselves wrapped around her ribs, holding her fast as though he'd never touch her again. Her hair smelled like nothing he'd ever known before, but was as divine as the finest ambrosia imaginable. He wove his fingertips through it as he squeezed her to him, its silken strands tickling his skin.

When they broke apart, he placed one last firm kiss on her mouth, and released her. Hermione's sparkling smile was the last thing he focused on as she left first to return to the Hall. He waved to her one last time a she walked back and he stayed behind, leaning against the wall. The straining member of his person was pressing fiercely beneath his pants, yet he was not as concerned about it or discomforted by it as he had been in previous weeks. Where he had been agonizing over its recurring and insistent appearances over the recent weeks, it seemed now that having been able to replace his imaginary theatrics with real ones left him… a little less desperate for the privacy of his own rooms.

He shifted himself slightly, and left the little alcove as well to return to the Hall.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The laughter and music had continued in the Great Hall, and while Ursa had danced again and again, eaten and drank many goblets of drink, she felt herself invigorated rather than tired. She felt herself full of life and full of energy, such as she hadn't felt in _weeks._ Nay, _months,_ she concluded. Her brown-bronze eyes danced as she clapped to the music, and watched the dancers, as though she was a young woman once more. She'd shared several dances already with Tyt'o, with Theo, Eachan, Morgan, and several of the young Horse grooms that had come, if only for a while into the House, to partake in the celebrations.

Without her Lord here for the feast, it seemed that the skies were the limit as to how long she could dance, or with whom. Though, it was only one person whom she knew to reside in the House that she hadn't seen but all day, and that was Rune Mora.

Ursa had thought she'd spotted the teacher, and had made to seek her out, and wish her a good Lammas, but she repeatedly escaped Ursa's searching gaze. It wasn't until she spied Sirius, who had cornered her a moment, that Ursa made her way over post-haste.

The Lady knew well that Rune More was not one for social niceties; she was a master possessed in the practices of serious magics, and generally not very accepting of touch and affections. Nevertheless, the woman was present, and it was Lammas, and Ursa would share with her a wish of blessing.

Nearly out of breath, Ursa reached the two teachers and smiled openly. They were not speaking lowly, or cautiously, so there seemed no reason not to approach that she would interrupt. But as she did, Ursa found that Rune's hard blue eyes bored into her suddenly, and it stole her breath away as she felt a wave of magic wash around her, stunting her exuberant arrival.

The Lady faltered in her steps, though none in the Hall spied it, other than the Necromancer. In her minds eyes, the vision of a woman appeared there that Ursa had not laid eyes upon in some near-two score. It shocked her then that she should either think upon, or see that face once again. Her soft brown hair, and sparkling hazel eyes…. The very same shade as the eyes that had haunted her for years after she had been made to leave her parents' House. The Master approached the Lady, her head turned slightly, having felt the magic that had reached out for the Lady acutely. "Good Lady, can we speak in private?" Rune asked firmly.

Suddenly struck dumb her smile faded into a daze, she nodded, and Rune took the Lady's hand as though she were a Lord. Allowing herself to be tugged behind, Ursa felt herself still dwelling on the image that had come to her.

It was not long until the pair were out of the Hall, and Rune had guided her swiftly into a corner some two dozen paces from the Hall doors. Rune turned herself to look straight at Ursa. "Whom did you see, Lady?" She inquired sternly. "Who is this woman?" Ursa shook her head in confusion.

"I'm not certain why you know what I see, Master Mor-" Rune interrupted her with a flick of her hand.

"Cease with the formalities, Lady. I performed a meditation my very self this afternoon, and was shown visions of the same woman you saw just now in your mind. This is not a woman with whom I am familiar-" The Master paused. "-And I have known many women. But _you_ know who this is, you have seen her." She prompted.

"Of course I've seen her: I saw her every day of my life until I left my parents' House. She was my mother's ladies maid." Ursa's expression was questioning and unsure. "Why would I be struck with a vision, from your magical incantation?" She asked sharply. "What conjuring did you perform today, Rune Mora?"

The Master's blue eyes stared deeply into Ursa's, as spread her magic wide around the two. "Give me your hands, Ursa, I need to see who she is." The fierceness of her demand made Ursa almost blindly complicit, and she allowed Rune to take hold of her hands. When she did, she felt a warm tingling start at her fingertips, and then behind the barrier of her eyes, she felt a sudden wave of disorientation as Rune dipped into her mind. Suddenly unsure of the permission she granted, Ursa panicked and tried to pull away, but Rune held her hands in a grasp that was shockingly strong, and Ursa could not tear her eyes away from the woman. "Sssshh," she soothed. "You're safe, it's just uncomfortable sometimes. I will slow down."

The Lady felt the wave roll back and her sense of balance returned to her once more, the sensation lessened and she felt more normal. The pools of Rune's blue eyes were more mesmerizing that Ursa had ever imagined them to be, and the trance she came into flowed over her like a great sigh.

In only a few more moments, Rune's strong grip loosened, and the spell melted away and Rune retreated from the Lady's mind. Rune's eyes searched desperately unto Ursa's brown eyes and the lady became aware that her expression was expectant. "What did you see, Rune?" She whispered.

"Your mother's ladies maid. What was her name?" she asked, more softly that Ursa had ever heard her gruff voice before, which took Ursa aback momentarily.

"Her name was Merry. Merry Riddle."


	22. Chapter 22

**Hallelujah holiday week! I have extra time, and so you get more chapters to read! Cheers!**

 **Chapter 22**

The knock on the chamber door was assertive enough not to be missed, but not so aggressive that it was inappropriate for the first light of day. Typically Ursa Gresham was left to repose a little longer, while Loren would have been up to receive news for the morning and being his normal day.

With no Lord to run the daily dealings, Ursa rose to the task eagerly. Both figuratively and literally; she was up, dressed and fresh for the morning to open the door at the first knock. The House Butler bowed at the other side and she bid him a good morning, and accepted several letters presented to her as the two walked amiably down to breakfast.

The House was still a little more silent than it should have been. The past two days of revelry and imbibing had left everyone careful of foot and tender of head. The Lady smiled to herself as even she had felt fuzzy and overly tired the day prior, having danced for hours, and drank several more goblets more than her normal conservative amount. But all was well; no one in the House was truly worse for wear, and things would return to their normal schedule soon enough anyway.

Ursa basked in the satisfaction in knowing that the House, largely, ran and operated without anyone needing to snap at anyone's heels. The people whom they employed were both well-cared for, housed satisfactorily, were allowed time to spend with their own families, and were paid. It had shaped their House into a place where generations of families had come to live and work for them here, as well as marry and raise families of their own.

Loren, for all his faults, was a bit of a visionary in this regard. Even in the House of her birth, Ursa's parents had not invited the families of vassal Houses, and working staff to revel in the Great Halls with them. There were some members of staff that were certainly closer to her mother and father than others, but there had always been a pointed _division_ in classes. Much like a caste system.

Ursa's mind, for the second time in as many days, though admittedly after as many years as her children had been alive, found herself reminiscing about the days of her youth, and the many memories she'd tucked away to herself when she had been taken from the House to a summers-long procession of Houses to meet eligible Lords.

The Lady counted herself lucky; she had been resistant to the idea of marrying at that time, at least, in the way that her parents had demanded. _Undeniably as an ultimatum._ She recalled, but she had, admittedly, found herself traitorously interested in Loren when she had met him. His dashing dark eyes, and roguish smile had caused her to blush as her mind raced with all manner of wanton thoughts, as he'd brazenly looked her over, appraising her positively.

Though undeniably still a maid herself, the doors of desire had not been so mysterious that she did not know what they were. She had never so much as breathed a word to Loren about this at the time; no Lord wished to know that his future-wife came to him with anything less than a strictly virginal mind and soul. And while Loren had sent her dashing glances, and touched her hands with lingering tenderness, Ursa had allowed herself to accept that the path she stood on would eventually lead to her ascending as Loren's wife, and Lady, and in this she would be happy. And as her future-husband wooed her with his clandestine seductions, and his charm, Ursa demurred and abashed herself as she knew she ought, despite that he was not the first man to have been captivated by her.

Though Ursa was blessed more than most wives to do as she wished with her days, there were always limitations to what was possible. It was a simply fact that a wife was not a Lord: She had her station, and with it were expectations and limitations. It came with many benedictions, but burdens as well.

Still, she had found happy times in her life. She had not been sold off as many young Ladies were, to a marriage with no affection whatsoever. Though she would never breathe so much as a word to another living soul; her marriage match had not been the one that her heart had wanted, but it had been the one that her station had demanded.

The Lady sighed and wiped her somber musing aside, for she _dared not_ entertain their traitorous roots in the presence of such strong Masters such as Sirius and Rune, she entered the breakfast Hall to join the company.

There had been no waiting for her arrival, and the four young folk had dug summarily into their respective meals, bantering back and forth passionately about a design flaw in jumping saddles. The Lady made no protest that there was no formal acknowledgement of her arrival, and was contented to slip into a chair, and begin her own meal.

The Masters Black and Mora were both in attendance, though it seemed Sirius was a degree or so worse for wear. He smiled, wanly, sipping a piping hot brew and slowly making his way through his plate. When she bade the two a good morning, it came as a moment of hesitation when she realized that Master Mora had not actually responded to her. Instead she found the gruff woman had glanced her way coldly. Ursa decided to pay it no mind; it was likely that the reveling and imbibing had some lasting effects on the two, and she respected that not everyone was as chipper in the morning as she. That, at least, was one of the first lessons she had learned as a new wife.

Between the sedate tone amidst the adults, and the stark contrast of the elation of the younger four attendants seated at the table, the meal was over quickly. Before the little troupe could rise, Sirius bade them permit him a quarter of an hour before the start of their first meal, and that he expected them to be present in the Great Hall for their lesson.

The four agreed readily and scattered from the table, almost too-quickly, Ursa realized. She brushed it off; there was truly little trouble the four of them could get up to in that short of a time span, so she thought it best not to dwell too long upon it.

It was clear Sirius himself was distracted, as he abandoned his dish not long after and excused himself as well, following an apology to Ursa, and a nod of acknowledgement to Rune. The Master only grunted her reply to her fellow, and stuck to minding her own sphere of presence.

The sudden quiet in the Hall was in stark contrast to the moments before, and Ursa found that in clearing her throat slightly, it was a deafening break of the peace. Rune Mora continued to ignore her, and Ursa shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

The grim lack of conversation made the Lady uneasy. Rune Mora was not a friendly woman on any given day, so her lack of enticing conversation was to be expected, but this felt… different.

"Master Mora, might I enquire as to your wellbeing this morn-"

"You lied to me." Rune interjected abruptly, and Ursa paused, stunned.

"I beg your pardon?" The Master finally looked at her with an expression painted with contempt.

"You. Lied. To. Me." Her words were punctuated, and hard. They took Ursa by surprise in their forcefulness.

"I heard you perfectly the first time. I am merely unaware of what you speak." Ursa shot back, and met the woman's cold blue eyes with her own. The brazenness of the accusation was offensive, and Ursa knew with certainty that it was an untruth. But the Lady would not be cowed with Rune's tactics of intimidation, and she refused to break their eye contact.

"I find that hard to believe, Lady." Rune sneered finally. "You seem the type to maintain your control at all times, so forgive me if I find it difficult to comprehend that you do not know of your own mistruths." Ursa set her drink down with a thud following the insult.

"Master Mora, I will not be spoken to thus beneath my own roof. If I have given you offence, then I beg you to spell it to me, that I might make it right. But if you will not entreat with me, then I cannot admit to my fault." She paused. "But you will not speak to me in this way." Rune mulled this over for a moment in her mind, considering briefly just opening up the Lady's mind and taking the answers for herself. She had no patience for this tête-à-tête, but she recalled how the woman swayed on her feet just two nights past when Rune had wrested into her head the first time, and rather than falling into the abyss of her spell she had panicked to escape.

While Rune had no compunctions about taking information when she wanted it, she understood the mechanics of when a mind had an adverse reaction to her extortions. Rune might not particularly like Ursa Gresham, she couldn't leave her a mad and blithering either.

"The name you gave me, night before last, it was false." Ursa cocked her head to the side, not expecting the answer she received.

"You mean the name of my mother's ladies maid?" She asked with incredulity.

"None other." Rune replied curtly and Ursa scoffed.

"Then explain to me under what assumptions you sit that you presume me to lie about this? The woman has been employed to my father's House since before I was born. Gods above; Merry Riddle helped a midwife deliver myself, and my two youngest siblings. What motive should I possess to lie to you about someone such as this?" The Lady's admission contained no presences, and as she spoke her face revealed no tell-tale signs that she spoke falsely.

Nevertheless, Ursa might not have consciously lied. She could very well believe what she spoke as truth, even though it was not.

"You say you know this woman then. Intimately as a part of your father's House staff? From whence did she come to your father-House? From whence are her origins?" Rune pried further, indelicately. Ursa shook her head.

"I- I-"She stammered. "I don't know. She has ever-been my mother's ladies maid, and closest friend, but I know not from where she hailed to us. I only know that she had a husband, Tom, who was my family's coachman." Rune Mora had risen from the table, her eyes keenly watching Ursa as she spoke.

"That's not all, is it Lady?" The Master ground out, annoyed that the woman was causing her to work do ardently for information that she should just be allowed to take. Further disturbed that despite her own personal vision that she'd conjured, the magic had come back to her _without bidding_ into her dreams the night following.

Rune was accustomed to her dreams being her own. When she called and used her magic, she had come to expect a certain process. This process had been interrupted by this series of insistent and urgent scenes that had both piqued her curiosity, but also deeply disturbed her.

Ursa's hesitation to give her the absolution she needed to complete this puzzle was exasperating in the extreme, but what Rune was prying into were the matters of Ursa's darkest secrets. The Lady stammered again and blushed. Run had walked the length of the table and around to where Ursa sat. Impatiently she plopped her hands on the table next to the Lady with a glaring and expectant expression. Ursa found herself shrinking under the anger and annoyance behind those eyes, and though her recent surge in confidence had given her leave to act more confidently, she discovered that she wavered. She looked away from Rune's piercing blue eyes, and commanding expectation.

"I do apologize if you find my answers false, Master Mora." Ursa whispered out as she continued to look away. "I have given you this information freely and honestly, to the best that I am able. I am sorry if you find me unreliable in this matter." With that, she stood to leave. "Please welcome yourself to any such amenities as you desire. I find that I am no longer myself and retire to my rooms."

The Lady made to leave in haste, and Rune grasp her by the wrist before she could get far away. Reactively Ursa gasped and tried to jerk her hand away, her whole upper body flinching away from Mora. The Master did not release her. "I could take what I wish from your mind, Lady." She said lowly, threateningly. Ursa's eyes were fearful at the thought, but she gathered herself finally.

"Then do it." She spat, fed up with this game of cat and mouse that Rune wove. Her body had started shaking, frightened at the sudden handling of her person, the roughness of it. It reminded her too much of what Loren had done to her, and while her countenance was disposed to be friendly and kind, her body remembered the acts that had been done upon it and betrayed her façade of confidence. "Do it and stop wasting both our mornings." She said. "I have given you what you ask, and you insult me with your doubt and accusations. Imperfect, though I am assuredly, I am not a perjurer."

Rune cocked her head, and her thin lips cracked a little smile before she released her. Her blue eyes narrowed as Ursa returned her gaze and brought her arm back into the safety of her bosom before she whirled on her foot to leave the Hall.

When the Lady was out of sight Rune finally breathed evenly again. "But you are, my Lady. The very best fabricator of them all."

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Trying not to rush out of the breakfast Hall was trying, indeed. Her destination was clearly in mind, but she categorically had to make it seem that she was ambling in her particular path _haphazardly,_ not intentionally. Consciously keeping an eye on Tyt'o and Theo as they slipped off the opposite direction, she looked back over her shoulder almost a dozen times to be certain that she was not in proximity to anyone of importance.

In her focus to ensure her covert plan, she had not kept her awareness of where she was walking, and collided into something in front of her person with a clunk to her left temple. She raised her hand to the spot and snapped her attention to where she had been walking, and found that she had thumped directly into Draco Malfoy, who was equally holding his jaw.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, and blushed profusely. What a dunce she was! Mortification flooded her suddenly and she felt her body heat like an oven. Her normal effusive nature would have included a long string of apologies and a few admonishments about his lack of awareness, but she found herself shy and cowed, hoping that he did not find her a lummox for her lack of graces.

The young man smiled at her, melting away her insecurities. "Well, you managed to find me." He joked, and she chuckled, suddenly nervous under the scrutiny of his gray eyes. Eyes that she had discovered in close intimacy were dashed through in places with what looked like olive or blue, depending on the light. She felt herself suddenly abashed and looked downward under the weight of his appreciation for her.

A scoffing of someone walking sounded somewhere behind the two, and they snapped to attention, both gawking behind her as though they were two fawns without their mother, sensing a predator coming for them. Draco acted quickly, and pulled her to the side where there was a window seat, and leaned into her lips. He groaned as soon as he found them, and she gasped in rapture.

The wasted little time with sweet kisses, and found themselves tangled immediately with each other's tongues. Their prior hesitations and slow-moving pace had escalated into full on young passion. Draco's hands found her waist and wrapped her in his embrace. She, for her part, melted into him without reserve and stroked his biceps and shoulders, up towards his neck and cheeks. The reveled in their newfound boldness together, relishing the surges of innocent sensuality that they played with.

Their little moans, and sighs caused their stomachs to flip-flop in ways they had never experienced, but that spurned them forward into frenzies of deep and passionate kisses. Humming happily, Hermione pulled away first, and peppered kisses to his soft lips as she looked into his eyes. The light of the morning made their color pop and glisten. Her lids were hooded and her breath ragged.

"'Tis good I found you." She breathed, and he grinned fiercely.

"I could not wait to taste your lips again." He whispered, and kissed her again. She moaned into his mouth as the two plundered together the depths of their partner, weaving promises and teasing intentions with their tongues. "So sweet." He managed to say softly, and she chuckled as she kissed him back. His hands squeezed her waist and pulled her torso flush into his body suddenly.

She gasped in surprise, and Draco broke the kiss with a bit of mortification. "I-" he tried. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He admitted sheepishly. Hermione battled momentarily, not certain if she should be offended or not. The gesture was a bit crass, but she had to confess to herself that the sudden _direct_ contact with his body was… Well, it was shocking, but thrilling at the same time. She wrapped her arms around his neck a little more, bringing their bodies back together, and she ghosted her lips across his with a smile. The gesture worked most effectively, and the two resumed their joyous exchanges of kisses once more, this time all deep breaths and trying to fight their smiles so their teeth wouldn't clack together.

The sounds of footsteps and voices were what caused an abrupt end to their stolen moment, and Draco planted one last kiss on Hermione before the two of them smiled, and she made to dash away and return to the Great Hall. Only she darted back quickly and planted a quick peck on his cheek, her copper eyes dancing with exuberance. Their hormonal state was electric and Draco fought his desire to pull her back to him and resume their delicious exchanges, but refrained, painfully.

Seeing her leave was almost as exhilarating as holding her in his arms, for she always looked back at him with a smile over his shoulder. Her skin aglow with her excitement, and her side-long glance mischievous as she carried secret knowledge of their rendezvous. How her curls bounces while she walked, and how her hands wrung themselves with a little nervousness as she trotted off. He signed aggressively with a groan, his trousers _painfully_ tightened at their juncture.

The mounting pressure in his groin was undeniably, and insistent. When Draco had pulled her body to his, it had been screaming silently to find friction against her, and without thinking he'd obeyed its command. The gesture was horrifically ungentlemanly of him, however, and he was nearly shocked she hadn't socked him one right in his midsection. Kissing a Lady was one thing, rutting against her body in that manner was an intrusion, and spoke poorly of a young Lord's control.

Though, he had to admit, he was conflicted at the truth of that notion. In the words of his father "When a Lord desires something from a woman, he simply takes it." This included certainly the command of a woman's body. Did that mean then that his bold move should be something she should accept? He felt himself uncertain, and briefly considered his apprehension. It had definitely satisfied whatever baser urge had been tugging at him inside, to connect the most intimate parts of them together and find the same manner of friction he had been employing behind the lock of his door _almost every single night._

But as the young Lord held her in his arms, and experienced the reactions to their kissing, and tentative and innocent touches, that same mentality felt unfitting. He didn't _want_ to take what he wanted; he wanted her to want to give it to him. But simultaneously, it wouldn't do for them to be….. Engaging in acts of lechery while secreted away in the halls of her family's House. Not only did that lack decorum, but should they be discovered it would tarnish her pristine reputation, and brand him as a seducer. That, he would not abide.

The young man rolled his open palms over his thighs in frustration, feeling relief though as his furious erection finally lost momentum and began to recede. It was not the relief he honestly ached for, but it was a score better than trying to walk around with casual airs to convince it to return to its dormant state.

Draco sauntered away from the alcove after a quick glance to ensure he would not be seen. As he headed toward the Great Hall, he pondering that he would have to find some place that he could secret away to with Hermione. One not so greatly exposed, but not so clandestine that it would make her feel uneasy with him alone there. Unlike the night of the feast for Lamas when the time came for Hermione to be off to bed, they had found themselves able to access her father's study without being noted. There they were able to continue in their practice of kissing each other for almost a whole half of an hour.

As he entered the doorway he bowed dutifully to his teacher, and fought his inclination not to meet Hermione's eyes immediately with his. Every time they did it caused the pair to grin to excess, and the obviousness couldn't be concealed. Even though they had not yet spoken of their obstacles, it was mutually understood that secrecy was imperative.

The young Lord breathed deep, as innocuously as possible, and drove his lusting thoughts out so he could fill his mind with the focus to the day's lesson. It last long though, as Master Black called them together as the first pair.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Ursa let herself into the sacred chamber of Loren's study, her skirts swirling around her as she hummed to herself while arranging the chair and laying out the letters she needed to respond to. She laid out ink and parchment and settled herself contentedly.

Her first few letters were normal states of business; requests for audience to discuss review of the volumes of harvest, which she compared with her Lord's personal accounts and dates for audience, and confirmed that their visits could be received.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened in her routine until she found herself holding a letter of heavy stock adorned and sealed with the seal of the House of Malfoy which had been situated in the midst of her days work.

The Lady considered the letter for a few moments before making any hasty decision. The onus of response fell to the Lords to precipitate their correspondence between Houses. Loren was going to be some more days at least until he returned to the House, and perhaps an additional day until he could settle into his typical duties. The letter was heavy in her hand as she weighed her thoughts, its fine velum was silken and smooth beneath her fingertips.

Loren would be burdened with many responsibilities that would require his immediate attention, and it would be remiss of her as his wife to not confirm that a response was not required immediately to this letter. She set the letter down before her, and slowly picked up the slender silver letter opener, and pried the seal from the letter gently. For reasons she could not explain, it felt heavy to her in her hand then.

 _Loren Gresham, Lord and Head of House, of the Keep within Morvan Rove._

 _I send this letter with good faith that you will consider its contents as an act of honest intentions between our Houses. As we enter our season of blessing and plenty, the cacophony of joy which we hear every year is weakened without the presence of our Heir._

 _It is because of this that I beseech that there could be an allowance to permit my Lady Wife to make journey to your House to visit with her son, and my most faithful heir, at the time of yule, that she might ease the ache in her heart at the months they have spent apart._

 _I implore your hasty reply that I might assuage My Lady's anguishes, and pay her reverie that she might look forward to such a hospitable fortuity._

 _Fare thee well as I fare._

 _His Honorable Lordship, Lucius Malfoy_

Taking her quill and paper, Ursa considered briefly the content and scanned the letter again. It was a little overdone, she conceded to herself, but the basic request was neither unheard or, nor unreasonable. Though the Gresham's fostered the two heirs, there seemed no reason to object to a humane request such as this.

With a sigh and a flourish, Ursa began her letter accordingly, ascending acquiescence to the Lord that they welcomed the Lady Malfoy as their guest and would see to the comforts of her transport at the arrival to the border town of Brandwell. She closed the letter with a request to advise of the date of her arrival that they would be prepared for her accordingly.

She signed the letter, _By the hand of the Lady of the House of Gresham, Ursa Gresham, in preference during his absence, of the Lord Loren Gresham._

Closing the parchment, she took a stick of wax and held it over the end of a candle at the side of the desk, and allowed the melting wax to adhere the folded pieces together until there was a small puddle there. Placing the stick aside, she placed the seal of the House into the melted wax and held it fast until it was ready to remove.

Ursa plucked up her letters, and blew out the candle before she carried them out to the butler who would oversee their transport to their proper destinations.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Loren Gresham breathed deeply the air in the town of Brandwell as he pushed open the door to the inn; it had been a long day, and longer-still had been their stay at the House of Shacklebolt to try to repair some of the damage done by his breeches of contracts.

The proprietor, a stout man of his middle age, nodded to the Lord accordingly and motioned for him to the bottom of the stairs where a simple girl waited for him, a tray in her hands. The Lord nodded to him his thanks and traveled through the subdued chaos that was his company; given leave by Loren to their own devices for the evening, and thusly they reveled and laughed without care, drinking and carousing.

He silently plodded behind the girl who attended him to one of the rooms that had been prepared for his arrival. She motioned for him to enter before her, demurely acknowledging that she occupied a lesser station than he, and she entered behind him, allowing the door to close.

The room was of little importance to Loren, and he wearily sat in the chair that sat to the side of the bed. The girl gingerly placed his tray at the foot of his bed, and Loren rubbed at his temples. Earnestly she clasp her hands together across her white apron and asked gently. "Is there anything else I can bring you, my Lord?" Her tone was concerned. Loren sighed and stood to remove his coat.

"No, sweet girl. There is nothing else I need here this night." She smiled as she looked down at her feet.

"Nothing else, gentle sir?" She sought modestly, and he glanced at her. The girl had reached behind her head and loosed her primly done tress to allow it to fall below her shoulders. It was a light brown, and her full lips smiled at him then. Loren didn't move or speak, but she slowly walked to him, turning her head to the side with her eyes fixed on him.

She stopped just in front of him and appraised the buckles of his jerkin carefully, reaching to one with her feminine hands. Loren's own hands dropped to his side as he dumbly watched her unbuckle each one of them individually, glancing at him a few times with her blue eyes.

It seemed to him that the sound of his breathing consumed his hearing entirely, and he could sense nothing else. It wasn't until the sound of his belt striking the floor that he felt a rush of sensation within him, and his arms snaked around her waist.


	23. Chapter 23

**I did a mean thing by tricking you. Not very nice on my part, but…. It's part of the show!**

 **Chapter 23**

The waves that hit him were a force unlike any had felt before, and Loren was familiar with magic. This was like a song; sweet and melodic and it commanded his body to reach out to her. But the body beneath his hands felt strange. Unfamiliar. He watched as his disobedient arms made their way around her waist, and somewhere dimly his mind recoiled in the betrayal he was committing. It was that small thought that he held onto when he began trembling, and his vision slowly darkened. He shook his head once and looked at the face in front of him. Her blue eyes were wide and glassy, and looked at him unblinking. It, too, felt wrong.

His mind started racing, desperate to regain some control, to shake the fog that lingered all around him. _This was wrong. All of it was wrong. She was wrong. Where was he? Where was his wife?_

An unseen pressure started at his temples and he winced in pain. "Oh! My Lord, you must be ill. We must lie you down. Come to bed with me." The voice reasoned and he pried his eyes open again. Her eyes were so glassy they did not seem real. None of it seemed real, but yet her body beneath his hands was corporeal enough, and he felt his panic return to start clawing at his throat. He had to get out. Get away.

Loren moved his hands to her shoulders and the girl moaned lowly thinking his move amorous of her, making his stomach turn. _The sound of her voice was wrong_. Taking her firmly at her shoulders, he pushed her away from him with as much force as he could muster, and her body tumbled away from him.

As soon as his body was clear of her, the sensation that had been rising in his head, ceased and he shook himself but it left him unsteady on his feel. Her body moved slightly and she moaned as she moved to get up. Loren roared loudly for his men and in the clamor downstairs voices raised in response to his call along with heavy footfall that made its way up the stairs.

The door burst open to reveal Loren wobbling on his feet and the tumbled maid where the company milled inward. The girl sat up straight away and looked back at the men with fear in her eyes, panicked and stricken. "Oh, sirs! Blessed-be that you come! This beast set upon me, and when I refused him he struck me down!" She wailed, reaching for the nearest one, who moved to bring her to get feet

"Don't touch her!" Loren bellowed as he wobbled forward, still uncertain on his feet. "She is some manner of hellion, working some craft of spell when she is close to you." The effort of speaking made his body feel as though it was going to cause him to empty his stomach. The men parted and a few saw to their Lord, checking him over for injury and stabilizing him as he continued to stand. The other faction rallied in around the girl and she began hissing as she sat, trying to raise herself to crouch.

"Bastards and liars! Think you-me a foul temptress, but you are wrong!" She exclaimed, pointing her finger at Loren menacingly. Before she could speak again, one of the men in the company thumped her skull with the butt of his whip and she collapsed to the floor. Loren winced as her limp form which made a sick thud when she hit the floor.

The one carrying the whip shrugged his apology and removed his outer linen tunic and covered her head with it so she could not see them to work her magic. "My Lord we should bring her to the Inn Master that he might show us to the town jail. We can question her in the morning."

Loren nodded feebly and reached his arm to the chair for security before he sank into it. The room was spinning now, and Loren wasn't certain he'd be able to stand much longer. It had become increasingly difficult to keep his nausea tamped down, and his pallor paled.

"My Lord, should we seek a healer?" Another of his men asked with deep concern. The Lord shook his head.

"Get me to bed. Sleep will heal me." The men dutifully situated their Lord atop the covers of the bed and as Loren lay down he briefly felt as though he were falling backwards endlessly as his eyes closed, though he instinctually felt as though he should make fight to the dying of the light in front of his eyes.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The bouncing of his knee had, at first, seemed like a perfectly normal expenditure of the pent-up anxiety that Lucius Malfoy found himself in desperate need to rid himself of. But as he sat across the potent and fixed stare of his fellow Lord, Tom Riddle, whose eyebrows were currently drawn down into a very deep frown, he realized that the motion he was making with his knee was shaking the whole table.

"My deepest apologies, My Lord." He mumbled, and ceased his fixated disquiet.

Tom Riddle took a dramatic sigh before he returned his attention to the letters Lucius had turned over to him, taking care to sip a heated mulled wine that emitted a delicate bouquet of spices in the air. His hazel eyes were sharp as they skimmed the correspondence, causing Lucius to gulp back his nerves.

Tom finished his review of the letter, and handed it back to Lucius with a grimace. "It seems the overtures from the Carrows were not well received." Lucius nodded gravely.

"It is by the fortune of the Gods that Amycus was not burned alive, My Lord." Tom nodded, considering the words again pensively.

"Truer words were never spoken, my friend."

"The healer was able to save most of the flesh of the arm, it seems." Lucius offered, and handed Tom another letter, which he accepted with an absence of as much interest as he'd had in the first. "Though its use may never be the same again."

"Dragon fire." Tom mumbled, and Lucius wisely held his tongue, thinking of the great Red Dragon, that _again_ adorned his front lawn with its nonchalantly menacing fury. Visits from Tom were getting decidedly less-pleasant than they had ever been in the past, now that this creature was to be part of their frequent parlays.

Flicking the letter back onto the table, Tom leaned back into his chair, considering the information silently as he held his goblet in front of his mouth. "A vast underestimation of how greatly the Houses of Harben and Abdilgaard hold privacy within their esteem." He commented, and sipped his beverage once more, then settled it down. "What a pity they prove so difficult to win over. And more pity that they have the majority of Dragons at their command, and we have but our only ally." Lucius shuddered, and Tom gave him an appraising look.

"Forgive me, My Lord." Lucius held up a hand. "The acquiring of the red Dragon was a coup, indeed, but an ally? I am not yet certain that were I to turn my back on him, I would not find myself within his jaws awaiting a journey into his gullet."

Unexpectedly Tom laughed, and Lucius found himself chuckling hesitantly along with him. Once the humor had passed them, Tom returned to his serious thoughts once more. "Oh, most verily, Lucius. I suspect our red would lose no sleep once his feast of us was ended." He straightened and motioned to Lucius. "Now aside this melancholia, and bring me your good news, then."

Lucius produced one last letter of thick paper, plain and unassuming, but bearing the heavy golden seal containing a dragon within the coat of arms, surrounded by two rearing horses, swords and wheat beneath a jagged peak. The Lord accepted it from Lucius. "The Lady had granted her permission that Narcissa may adjourn to their House for Yule."

Tom hesitated at the statement as he slowly opened the letter. "The Lady has permitted? What mean you in this?" he questioned, and Lucius motioned to the letter again.

"It is the signature of the Lady of the House, in lieu of her Lord, nothing else." He said dismissively.

Before Tom could open the letter, a roar that shook the House sounded, causing the two men to startle at the abruptness of the noise which invaded their counsel. Tom nodded to Lucius and pointedly pocketed the letter. "I shall return this to you presently." He motioned back toward the front of the House. "I find that my…. Companion…. Has need to leave this place."

With that, Tom made to stand, and Lucius stood with him, bowing as the fellow Lord made to exit the room. Once out of the door, Tom strode through the House towards the entrance with great haste. Just prior to reaching the set of heavy double doors demarcating to the outside, he paused, and glanced in his inner pocket to remind himself that the letter was still within. For the first time in what felt like a long time, Tom Riddle smiled and gave a dark chuckle.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The candles burned lower now than they had hours prior, and Ursa found that their waning light caused her eyes to fall tired and wish themselves to close. She rubbed them briefly before hearing a light knock at the door.

"Enter!" She bade, and the creaking of the doors sounded through the otherwise quiet room and the sound of footsteps entered her quiet reverie. Releasing her face from her hands she looked up to see the purposeful stride of the Master Rune Mora stalking toward her, and Ursa stifled a groan at the realization she was going to have to maneuver again with the cantankerous Master once more.

"Master Mora, to what do I owe the pleasure?" She contained her want to groan out her insincere invitation, and motioned to a seat at the other side of the desk for the woman. The Master accepted without courtesy, and soon faced Ursa without saying a word. The silence grew uncomfortable as the two sat across from the other and it seemed an aeon before the Master made to speak.

"It seems I am to owe you some apology, My Lady." The Master mentioned, as though it were a casual thought. Ursa Gresham considered this a moment before she scrutinized the Master further.

"Is that what is seems, then?" The Lady leaned back into the chair, positioning her arms over the rests in the kind of repose one would see if they were watching a great queen or empress. The Lady smirked just slightly, willing herself not to be too smug or goading, thought she was sincerely want to do so.

"Aye, it is." The Master conceded, her expression calm and her posture quite the same. "It seems you were not aware that you spoke untruths, My Lady." Ursa stiffened at the accusation briefly before she had to fight herself back into her calm.

"And what untruths have I told you, Great Master?" Ursa's eyes narrowed, but Rune remained impervious.

"That you knew the name of the woman brought to me within my visions." She informed her, simply. At this, Ursa felt her earlier irascibility creep back into herself, her heckles rising higher.

"Then by all accounts, I beg you enlighten me, _Great Master."_ The Lady bit out the last of her sentence with great effort to control herself.

Rune leaned forward then, closing the space between them. "At the time I am bestowed with my visions, it is not always important what prominence they contain." She began. "So one could presume to acknowledge my interest when an unimportant, and seemingly irrelevant waif entered the sphere of my interest." The Masters blue eyes were locked with Ursa's, and neither one would be the first to back down and break the stare, and the woman marched onward despite the growing animosity.

"Imagine my great surprise that this slip of a girl, a miserably abused, but wholly unremarkable wretch, becomes the center of my magic focus for some number of days. Neither strikingly beautiful, nor brilliantly talented." She sing-songed the last statement mockingly, and Ursa took a deep breath.

"To discover that this nobody is someone who played, what you say, was an integral role in your father's House, struck me as odd-indeed. Especially when the name you gave me does not match the name I know her to have been given at birth."

And there it was, Ursa realized. She'd played right into the trap Rune had set for her, it seemed.

"But it was the truth." She blurted out, without thinking and her hand nearly darted to her mouth to cover it. Instead she clumsily straightened her posture in the chair. Rune Mora waved her off as she resumed.

"It is the truth, in a way. Both names are indeed the truth." Ursa's shock became confusion as Rune pressed onward. "It matters little, in the end, I believe. Suffice to say that the identity of the woman who serves your mother, is not the one she was born to be." The Lady was smart enough to piece together what the Master was telling her, but nonetheless it made little sense to her why there had been such an emphasis on its importance. "By all accounts you could not have known her true name, and thus my anger with you was displaced," The woman added dispassionately. "For that flagrant aggression, I do ask your patience."

Ursa chuckled. "I believe you came here asking for an apology, not patience." Rune's expression perked up just slightly, seeing that her quarrelsome nature was being met with a bit of Ursa's own ire to match it. Rune chuckled her capitulation.

"Indeed you are correct Lady-" She'd begun, but Ursa continued.

"So I believe it is yourself that has made the misstep, and not I." Rune chuckled then, and bowed her head just slightly, conceding Ursa's well-made point.

"In this, you are correct, good Lady." And the two of them shared a half snicker before the tense silence returned. Both still sitting, unmoving, Ursa leapt upon this chance she was present for.

"Tell me Great master, what is it I have done to earn such a great ire from you?" She pried, and for the first time since Rune Mora had been attending as a tutor to the House, she flinched slowly, with an expression of confusion slowly painting her face.

"Ire, good Lady? You think I harbor ire for you?" The Lady who faced her was then the one who turned under the confusion as she stared at the Master across from her. "Ah good Lady, it is my most comfortable demeanor that I am….. Prickly." Ursa chuckled and gave Rune a small smile.

"A more apt word was never spoken." She agreed and Rune joined her as they laughed.

"Though were I man, we could have simply christened me a 'prick.'" The two women laughed openly then at the fearlessly inelegant phrase until the tears flowed down both of their cheeks.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The crackling of logs in the fire was the only noise in the room and a warmth emanated from the grate of the fire that radiated heat. The Lord who sat before it mused quietly that, despite it to still be harvest season, the Manor Castle which he occupied never seemed to manage to hold any heat within it, thus necessitating a fire in any used room through the whole of the year. An odd finding, that.

The flickering of the candles around the room brought their addition to the unnatural light that he sat by, pensively, their wicks burned of the finest wax was noiseless and yet elegantly painting the surrounding room with a waltz of dancing light.

Atop his lap under his scrutinizing gaze were several letters that remained folded and unread. The thickest of the letters had a heavy seal in gold that the Lord had placed at the very bottom of the pile, uncertain if he was ready to open it and read the contents within.

The first letter he plucked was a simple missive from Lucius; nothing more than a scrap of paper that had arrived tied to the leg of a black raven with keen and examining eyes. He had unwrapped it from the bird and placed it along with his day's correspondence to attend to at his leisure, and the bird had taken its leave by flight.

He'd sat at this chair some measure of time this evening before he readied himself to plunder the news he was to receive. The first piece he chose was the little slip from earlier in the day, and it contained only one short sentence.

 _Our endeavor was unsuccessful._

The Lord read it again, and again, and felt a red fury boil behind his eyes that brought his magic flowing through his hands with speed. He cast his rage out of himself with a growl and the fire in front of him flared with all of the violence of an erupting volcano.

The scrap of paper had turned to ash and dust in his hands as the Lord, taking heaving breaths, stood from his chair and paced back and forth.

 _This part of their plan had failed, but it was not the only way to set the wheels in motion._

The man rumbled his frustration in an animal-like sound that belied his normal smooth and velvety tones. He took a deep breath and bent down to collect the letters that had fallen from his lap when he had leapt from the chair, and moved the letter with the golden seal to the forefront.

 _He would simply have to switch his tactics._ He reasoned. _And he was nothing if not patient._

With gingerly motion uncharacteristic compared to his prior outburst, he removed the gold seal so as not to tarnish the paper it was adhered to, and without further thought tossed it into the cracking fire atop a blazing log. The wax bubbled and spit as it melted and evaporated, and the Lord felt satisfaction.

With gentle motions, he opened the letter in the low light to see an elegant and precise script written beneath. Perfectly symmetrical calligraphy showcased its author's many-hours of recitation at the task of refinement. Every letter at the dawn of each sentence had a lush flourish in the capitalization that spoke of elegance and finesse. It had been an age since he had read scripture as well formed as this, but his admiration of the sophistication in the writing was reigned in when he came to the last sentences of the letter, and his eyes fell upon the signature line.

He fought against the need to throw the letter into the fire and watch the flames consume its edges, as the hand it was written in bore heavy importance to his machinations.

The man carefully folded the letter to its original state and walked it to his desk to nestle it among the others he had collected there. Once it all fulfilled its purpose, he would rally his magic and in the faces of his adversaries he would burn everything that they loved while they bore witness to their helplessness at the destruction. In the end, none of this would matter.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Hermione's giggle sounded through Draco's lips as he shushed her playfully, and she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet her. "No one will hear us down here!" She laughed and deepened their kiss together, eliciting a moan from him as he wrapped his hands around her to fist the fabric of her vest along her back. His grasp desperate, and fists kneading into her muscles, which she arched into and moaned approvingly. "Your hands work magic, My Lord." She teased and her words send electricity through his midsection into his thighs and loins. The pressure that mounted there was unbelievably insistent, and he felt like he might implode if he didn't find something to relieve it. Yet he kept as much distance between their torsos as he could, feeling the foreboding possibility that if his body were to achieve its fitful desire it might be a point he could not turn back from.

Draco gasped and backed away as Hermione chased him with her mouth, her copper eyes suddenly shooting open at the loss of contact. Their hopefulness, yet insecurity at his disconnection evident. "Be I too brazen?" She asked shyly, and her brows furrowed slightly with worry.

"Only brazen enough, pet." He teased and she swatted his shoulder playfully. "I need but a moment to catch my breath, as your beauty steals it away." He whispered, and brought his knuckles along her cheek in a tender display. Hermione bit her lower lip and smiled sheepishly, this time able to keep her eyes on his for a few moments before she looked away. Draco tipped his mouth back down to hers and caressed her soft lips with his. He worked his kiss slowly and tenderly, a far cry from the desperation they'd felt only a moment before.

Hermione breathed in as she moved her hands gently to the soft skin of his neck. The sensation tickled Draco and he smiled while his flesh tingled all around where her ministrations played along him. The change in intensity made all the difference to calm the frantic urges that seemed to be leg by the unruly and impatient member within his breeches.

The dark all around them was broken by only the one torch at the wall, and the dancing light flickered the contrast all along her face. He could see that her cheeks had flushed, and he parted his lips from hers to kiss them individually, worshiping them with a lingering salutation of his lips. Her eyes closed and she sighed in the bliss she felt all through her body, her hands cupping his cheeks tenderly. Draco lay his forehead upon hers and she opened her eyes to meet his.

Her heart felt so full that she thought it might burst just then, and she met his expression of adoration with her unbridled joy. She leaned in tenderly and kissed him once again, opening her mouth to him sensuously. He felt a rush pulling at him within his chest and he hesitantly pressed his chest fully into her, feeling the inexplicable softness of her breasts pressed into him. He growled back a lustful groan and she gasped as her stomach leapt up through her body, a sudden urgency erupting there that she didn't realize could materialize.

"Oh Gods Draco," she moaned in a whisper, and he hummed at her in agreement. Her hands laced through his blond hair and he leaned her backward, arching her as they writhed together through their kisses. His lips cautiously migrated from hers and found the curve of her jaw, and he kissed along it toward her ear and her gasp of surprise spurned him as her hands fisted his hair. The sensation was electrifying, and the new sentiments being created washed over the pair in waves.

Though the pair had planned as well as they had been able, the darkness obscured more than just themselves. Holding his breath and listening from the last turn before the stairwell ended and opened up in the landing that Draco and Hermione used as a shelter for their affections, Tyt'o grimaced and closed his eyes at what he heard.

As he stood, still as stone, he ascertained that by the grace of the gods, Hermione was with him willingly. But his sweet words swayed her with every opportunity, and he heard the fluttering of her breathes, and her contented sighs at Draco's seductions.

Her brother fought back the need to commit violence that brewed within his fists, along with the burning of a flash of magic that begged to be freed upon some unwitting target. He considered revealing himself to catch them in the act, and drag his sister and her seducer straight away to his mother to be punished. Their father had still not returned, which was probably for the better; discovering his only daughter sneaking away with the heir of the House of Malfoy would be a disaster. Tyt'o was unsure if his father would be able to restrain himself.

The sound of breathing took over where the noise of wet mouths and kisses rose from, and it seemed that they had broken apart. Heartened that the pair seemed to be able to maintain some measure of decorum, much to the revulsion of her brother.

His sister's whisper to her furtive sweetheart indicated that the time was coming upon them to part. Tyt'o had lingered too long in his indecision! By some blessing he heard another wet kiss, to which he openly grimaced and very quietly ascended the stairs back up to the upper parts of the Keep.

The young man deliberated his path beyond this point, unsure how best to proceed. The reel in his mind of the vision he had seen under the tutelage of the Necromancer Mora played over and over in his memory, and Hermione's now-broken promise tainted his conscience with disappointment.

Reaching the first floor, the heir trudged in his thoughts up the grans stairs to the upper rooms, only to spy that the large wooden doors to his father's study were tinged at the seams with a light from within. Retreating back down the steps, he placed a hand at the door and pushed it open further.

Leaned over his father's desk, busy writing and intermittently sipping at a small cordial, his mother sat in a lush red velvet dressing robe and gown, her long wavy hair unbound and tumbling down over her shoulders and around her neck indecorously.

His footfall as he entered roused her out of her focus, and she looked up to see her eldest child walking towards her. His brow creased with heavy thoughts.

"What keeps you from a comfortable bed tonight, my dearest heart?" She asked, and Tyt'o tentatively sat in the chair opposite to her. His hand drew to his mouth, playing at his lower lip in deliberation.

"I seek your counsel, good mother." He started. "For I find myself disturbed." She lay down her quill and settled back into Loren's chair, appraising her son carefully.

"Then I am glad to give what I can for you, that we might find a way to ease your suffering." His copper eyes met hers, and he sighed heavily.

"Mother, I have had a vision that I am certainty will prove concordant to fact-" he began, and Ursa listened intently to her son as he began his narrative.

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	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

The weight of memories, long since passed into the relegations of musings-past were brought to the forefront of Ursa's mind. As the woman listened to her son's diatribe his words faded from her ears, and she drifted off to a place she had not allowed herself to visit since she was still a maid. A time when she was filled with fresh wonder of the world, and the story of her life was still unwritten.

So many possibilities had been in front of her, it seemed. She had been carefree, unconcerned with the plots and maneuvers that befell the Lords and Ladies of great Houses. None of that had mattered to her.

She had laughed a great deal more in those young years of hers; much more so than she did in these years most recent. She marveled more, and felt more passionately than ever she had in these years she existed in presently.

With a sigh, she reflected upon her thoughts, and her recollections, and how her son –now a man, had come to be so like his father in countenance. Filled with righteous indignations, heavy concerns and notions of propriety. They were not incongruous to the requirements of any Lady, certainly. But how uncannily he reminded her of Loren shook Ursa.

The faction of her mind that knew-well what rules governed the lives of young Ladies nodded in agreement with what actions were certainly required to come, following this unveiling of truth her son had brought. But there was a part of Ursa that still existed within her consciousness that clung to a long-forgotten folly in her own young that rung so alike to what her ears were hearing right now.

Words like 'secret rendezvous, impropriety, dark places, ruined reputation' all rung through her head as though it were her _own_ mother's mouth speaking them to her all over again. It was the past come back to haunt her for her own indiscretion.

Only this time, it was her _daughter,_ and not herself.

This time, _she_ sat in the seat of decision and action, and the fate of her _daughter_ hung delicately within her own hands.

Despite the weight of what it seemed was transpiring, Ursa fought a smile that wished to grace her mouth. _Her daughter was in love._ She realized, and tears started to form in the well of her eyes.

Seeing his mother come over with emotion, her son leaned to her and took his hand with his own, kissing it affectionately. Her reverie evaporating at their contact, as his eyes looked desperately upon hers.

"Do not cry, mother. This can be made right. We can end it before it can be allowed wings to fly, before we even have to tell father!" He exclaimed, and Ursa cleared her throat.

 _Oh, Gods._ She realized. _If Loren found out…. He would run the lad through on a sword without a second though._ She was certain of it. Ursa shook her head slowly. Confused as she might be, she knew with certainty that news of this….. Revelation must _not_ reach his ears. He would tear the House asunder with rage at the thought that his daughter could allow herself to become _so involved._

Ursa chuckled a little, but darkly. _It seemed Loren had misapprehended the hearts of_ _ **both**_ _of the women in his life._ She mused, comparing again the predicament she found herself navigating. The Lady shook her head in the negative to her son, and squeezed his hand.

"You speak wisely my son. It is best that your father not be brought into the fold of this knowledge." Tyt'o nodded gravely. "However, we must work ourselves around this situation in such a way that we do not insert ourselves into an argument with your sister." She counseled. "Until we are forced to make it known that we have knowledge of your sister's interests in your fosterling, we must simply find ways to occupy any free time she might find for herself." She looked at her son sharply. "Do you consent and concur with this method?"

Tyt'o's expression was dubious, but he nodded his head slowly. "I see reason in unspoken redirection, mother, but what of the vision that I have had-" His mother held up her hand, stopping his rebuttal.

"Know you your sister well, for you were nearly mates of my womb." She reminded him. "How do you presume then, that your sister will accept us in _telling_ her what she can or cannot do? Whom she can or cannot love? How far do you think away from the Keep will her caterwauling be heard?"

Her son chuckled and nodded his agreement; Hermione would not be one to accept such a correction. But he countered lightly. "Perhaps we do not bestow her the credit she deserves, mother. She is nothing if not rational." Ursa sighed.

"I fear, my son, that while you and I share a mind attuned to vanquish the great puzzles of life, your sister quite shares in your fathers' hot-headedness. Though, perhaps unlike your father she can be schooled as she ages to scheme more, and erupt less." Tyt'o gave his mother a knowing look, and she to him in return. It was a noble idea, but highly unlikely, they both knew.

Ursa spoke truly; Hermione, while smart and undeniably able to rationalize, was entirely reactive and instinctual. A creature able to indulge in any whim of her desire, and therefore unwilling to be bound by structure or limitation. It was, Ursa knew, a great disservice they had done to her as parents as she had never been grounded or forbidden from anything.

Much like her own self, it seemed. And when Ursa's time had come to accept the realities of her life as she had moved into adulthood, when her own wings had been clipped, her fall from the proverbial sky had been sharp and fast, and had shattered Ursa's heart and spirit completely.

She sighed and nodded to him once more. "The vision you have had does tell tale of…. Unspeakable evils. I will not dispute that you have been greatly disturbed by its influences." Ursa gave Tyt'o a reassuring smile, but spoke to him with a serious tone. "We will not banish its portents. We will keep it in our minds together, as a barometer of events. A warning, verily. But we shall not allow fear to infect our decisions over it." Her son nodded slowly.

The Lady stood and bid her son to embrace her. She uttered words of assurance, and reminders of patience; they would collude to come up with some plan to set right this course without Loren being any the wiser. Her son seemed mollified by her reassurances and her willingness to seek the honest course of action together.

After Tyt'o had left the room, and the doors were shut once more, her privacy restored, the Lady poured herself a great drought of cordial and flopped back into the chair. Her heart felt heavy, and her mind was burdened and swimming.

Oh, those forgotten years! She mused again, and sipped her warmed drink. She smiled deviously as she looked at the glass with its burgundy liquid and played with her magic though her free hand, lifting the liquid out of the delicate glass and into the air. It swirled and played, and danced as she commanded it to. Easily manipulated under her masterful order. With a swish and wave of her elegant fingers, it rolled and curled and danced for her as she willed it to and she remembered the merriment she would feel when she would play with objects, devising dances and games, pranks and spontaneous shows of a braggart.

Her older sister had been totally un-interested in continuing her practices once she had reached ten and four years. Her basics mastered, Annora had haughtily concluded that her efforts should be best spent in tutelage with their mother on womanly arts such as embroidery and dancing. Ursa sneered, thinking of how she had been in absolute consternation at the idea that a pupil would relinquish their chance to study under the greatest Masters that gold coin could afford to hire.

And the Masters that taught her were great indeed. Her father Aurelius had spared no expense where the quality of education was concerned. Though, for his part, she knew that her father wished that her mother had born him all sons first, and daughters after, he had been blessed after three daughters with his only son and heir only eight winters after herself. Her father's pride and joy, Nero was.

But it was Ursa who showed the fiercest control of her magical talents. She, who studied until her eyes were blurry. She who practiced her spells and crafting until she was forced to sit on the floor, or had to shake her hands back to life because her fingers were numb. She, the unremarkable second child of the great House of Allerton, was more powerful and skilled than any other of her line, and yet here she sat. Alone in the study of her Lord husband, nothing more than a married Lady of the House, expected to do no more than spend her days reading, balancing accounts or embroider pillows and nightdresses. Her life was an endless parade of entertaining dignitary visits and arranging her husband's schedule.

It was the life expected of most Ladies. For all her privilege, and all her advantages growing up, she was nothing more in the great game of life than a commodity. Sold off to create an alliance, at the price of her womb and the pleasure she would give in the bed of a man.

In the very least, for his part, Loren had tried his best to be an attentive husband to her. She was his Lady wife, and the Lady of the House during the days. With expectations and tasks to accomplish; all formality and decorum in her rich fripperies. But at night, when they were alone together in the quiet of their chambers, the man had shown her tenderness that a Lord was not required to give while she lay in his arms. He had shown patience and care of her, spoken true words of love and tenderness to her. And she, in time, to him as well.

Why then, after all the years of their marriage, did she now look back to the love of her youth and question all these years in between? The authenticity of them, now, as she considered them, seemed a falsehood of sorts. Did she love Loren because she loved him for who he was, or had she simply accepted it eventually out of obligation?

The liquid she directed with the control of her magic danced furiously now as her mediations turned to long-buried enmities. With a brutal stroke she sent it, and the glass she held, sailing across the floor in a chaotic whirl and it crashed along the stone floor.

The Lady looked at the mess she had wrought blankly. The destruction was senseless and stupid, and she sighed as she summoned another glass, and filled it again as she calmed her thoughts.

Her decisions had been made for her following her parent's discovery of her own young dalliance was brought to light, and she'd been whisked off from her House without so much as a word to her young paramour. Her mother had pranced her around for near 6 months through nearly a half dozen Houses. A 'summer tour', her mother had called it.

She had been paraded in front of eligible Lords like a prize to be bought at auction. And indeed she had been bought. There had been new dresses tailored and new scented oils she had never heard of before. Her mother had bathed her every day taking such cares with her long hair, and her perfect skin. Each day was a sort of pageant held to display her as some great trophy.

When the betrothal had finally been accepted, she had cried for days. She felt as much a betrayer as she felt utterly betrayer herself. Her heart belonged to one, and yet a contract for her body and life was held in the hand of another. She had been forbidden even to write him a single letter. The only time she had tried to secret one away to him, her mother had slapped her so hard, Ursa had seen stars in front of her eyes. The bruise it left had kept Ursa in her rooms for nearly a week after that, 'For what young Lord wishes to look upon a blight such as that?' Her mother asked.

Ursa took a long sip of her liquor, and it warmed her as it seeped into her belly. It was no wonder Lords enjoyed such a drink as this, when nights were cold and your thoughts were dark it felt as though the warmth would warm away all the ills you suffered.

 _What would her life had been, had she been able to make away with her love, she wondered? So very different from that which she lived now, she knew. Would their tenderness have survived the certain hardships they would have faced? Where would they have gone, where would they have lived? Would there have been children together-?_ Ursa chocked up as the last word stuttered her introspective to an abrupt halt.

Loren had forbidden her from further children after Hermione had been born, and she had nearly bled to death following. Her own terror, still so recent once she had recovered, rendered her unable to consider arguing with him and she had accepted the potion he had brought to her, and no more children had come. Though she had her monthly bloods, there were no more children.

It had been when Hermione had pushed away from her mother's arms to demand to be let to walk on her own, that Ursa had broken down into tears. Every moment of every day beyond this one, her baby would need her a little less. And there would never be another.

 _Would he have done the same?_ She wondered of her long-forgotten love.

When she closed her eyes, she could recall how his laughter had always made her skin tingle, just behind her ears. As though the very sound of it resonated with her most sensitive parts. As though their connection had been intrinsically part of their very make up. The way his eyes considered her sharply when she cast as spell for him to pick up the mop and bucket he had knocked over once, righting the cleaning water back within, and he had smiled for her. How, the day following he had brought her flowers that she had found never-wilted.

When it was discovered that his magical talent was nearly as great as hers, she had fought so fiercely for him to be allowed to learn alongside her, and her younger sister Elspeth. It was the first time she had defied her father's decision. Determined to prove that, despite his low-birth, the young man obviously hailed from some long-forgotten line of Lords. She had spent weeks in the library gathering parchment, and notating from books she had located. Tireless hours and hours she had spent gathering as much as she could through the genealogies until she demanded an audience with her father to prove she was correct.

Things had changed after that. Her stern father had been so taken aback at his daughter's fierce defense of their coachman's son that he had simply waved away the concerns held by the Masters attending his children lessons, and allowed the young man to participate as well. The way he had smiled for her when she rushed to him to tell him, grabbing the scrubbing brush from his hand with a gusto and flinging it away, she pulling him along with her in her own elation. She he entered their family's library for the first time, she realized it had been a smile borne of hope.

For all her life, she carried with her the certainty that her own romance had taken root as a result of a life-long friendship. They had schooled, studied, practiced and perfected together for nearly five years by the time he'd lain his lips on hers for the first time. And, oh, how she had stunned she had been in his interest of her! Completely unable to wrap her mind around the subtle parlays of man and woman, that she hadn't known how to properly return the gesture, her mind had simply gone bland and she had wandered away stammering.

Ursa sighed and closed her eyes. She was glad it was not with Loren that she ruminated in these thoughts. He would not see his daughter's romance with this young man as anything more than another slant in a long line of harms that have been done against his House.

After a long, deep breath, the Lady unceremoniously gulped back the last of the warming alcohol she had nursed for most of the eve following her son's departure. Feeling emboldened by the tingle through her blood she rose and snuffed out the candle as she exited the study for the evening. While she passed the mess she had made earlier, she waved her hand as she neared it, and discarded it with the power of her will, and the aide of her magic.

Sweeping back to the desk, she swiped up Loren's large bottle which she had been nursing through the eve, and corked it. She smirked as she took it with her.

As Ursa ascended the stairs she conceded to herself that she felt thusly relieved of her burdens, and she smiled. _Perhaps the Lords had it right, after all, with their silly late-night contemplations and cogitates. While all the Ladies lounged in wait for the Lords, they were the ones secreted away having all the enjoyment while the women faded away in their boredom._

Her body vacillated slightly as she reached the top step, and she smiled at her light-headedness. The weather was still nice enough outside that she could open her balcony if she wished it, she realized.

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The wretch at his feet moaned a bit as she lay there, her arms bound by the wrists behind her back, and the angle she lay at appearing terribly harsh, which made Tanner's thick mustache twitch slightly. He didn't mind very much at all.

He knelt down again, getting a gauge for her awareness of her surroundings once more. "This doesn't need to go further than here, lass. It ends at your word."

Her brown hair, now much darker than it had been before, obscured her eyes, but he could see that she had stirred to the point where she would likely understand him well enough to answer. He stood again and paced again back to the wall near the door where the light was strongest, and leaned against the wood casually. The low light highlighted the streaks of white coming in along his temple through his dark hair, and dashed through his neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He sniffed as she made to roll over, to make sure she knew there was someone waiting here. She looked back at him, at how his eyes hardened over her form.

"Did you hurt her?" He asked. "My Thea?" The girl coughed as she sat up, and the man looked her over now that her glamour had faded. She shook her head.

"Nay, gave her a drought of sweet wine and a little belladonna. She'll be up in the barn, in the stacks." He nodded to her in thanks that the girl hadn't been hurt, and kept his eyes cold. He had taken Thea in when she was only a young thing, and Tanner had come to care of her as a father would.

The one in front of him rolled her head over her neck and waited for him, still sprawled on the floor. Her eyes were brown, and very dark, and they reflected no light in the dim room. He regarded her features, how unalike his young ward they were; it spoke volumes as to how much power had gone into changing her appearance.

"Fair bit of a spell you found for yourself to look just like Thea." He kept his tone casual, but she made no move to reply. He nodded again, and uncrossed his thick arms; burly and ropey from the years he'd spent hauling hay into the barn every fall, and caskets of wine and ale into the Inn cellars. His body was no stranger to hard work, and his calloused hands clapped together once as he continued undeterred. "Then it looks like we do this the hard way, lass."

When Tanner reached behind him and brought out the long silver knife, he watched closely at her face for signs of fear, and saw nothing. No panic, no reaction. _Very interesting._ He thought to himself, and approached her with caution.

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It wasn't until the next morning that Loren awoke, though not with the light of the dawn. The light blinded him, causing searing pain when he merely parted his eyelids. He lifted his hands to his face and groaned through the agonizing feeling. "The light…" he croaked out, and attempted to roll himself away. His body felt leaden, and weak, as though he hadn't risen in many moons. He was feeble and shaking as well.

There was a creak of a chair, and the light dimmed as a curtain was pulled across. A younger lad, Doran, stepped closer to Loren and crouched down. "We weren't certain you would wake this 'morn, My Lord." He said, softly. "The men been takin' shifts to be certain you kept breathin' through the night." The young man sighed. "The captain, he be speakin' to Tanner, Lord. Tanner questioned the wretch night-last after ye' been attacked by her. Said she used some manner of spell to look like Tanner's young-thing what live here with 'im. The one he raised from a lass."

Loren tried to nod through what the young lad said, but his shortened words made it difficult to follow along through the pounding in his head. The Lord lay a hand out to Doran. "Water, my boy." And Doran nodded eagerly, fetching an earthen goblet and pouring from a pitcher at the side of the bed. He grouched back down and gripped Loren by the forearm and pulled him up slowly. The lord grimaced as the pain shot through his skull.

"Healer's been come and gone." Doran said and handed Loren the water. He drank slowly, but it felt good washing down his throat. He finished in a few gulps and Doran refilled him. The lad knelt down and looked into Loren's eyes one, and then another. "Ach-" he growled. "Whatever spell she used, she meant ye harm, good sir." Loren nodded. "Yer eyes may neh recover for a few days." The young man noted that many of the blood vessels in the whites of his Lords eyes were broken, leaving them red as his blood.

"That she did." He agreed, swallowing again down the water. His head still throbbed in a way he had not felt since his very first Lammas festival, when he had snuck his father's large goblet of mead and greedily gulped it down. The morning following had felt much like this, only with a great deal more stomach colic.

"'Tis a good thing the Lady did nay come with us!" Doran laughed suddenly. "Me things the Lady would have set the wretch a-fire for trying te take ye as she did." The lad chuckled, and Loren nodded his agreement. He was pleased to hear that his company still thought of his Lady as a woman of conviction for her husband, despite his recent….. Follies. If one could call the debasement of his wife such a frivolous word.

"Can you bring Tanner for me, my boy?" His voice was gravelly, and he made to clear his throat.

"Aye, my Lord. You stay an' rest while I fetch 'im!" Watching Doran's exuberance was like watching a hound pup run to chase its tail; all legs and glee and merriment over the smallest of things. Loren smiled, though it hurt to do so. He was a fine lad, with certainty. Stalwart and steady, and damn enthusiastic with a sword for a lad his age.

Loren leaned back into the bed, closing his eyes and raising his elbow over them as he waited to hear the thumping of boots along the wooden floor. His breathing had slowed and the paid in his head had begun to lessen by the time the door creaked open slowly.

"Lord?" Tanner's low and rumbling voice queried. Loren breathed in as he made to sit up, removing his arm to find purchase along the bed. The older man chuckled as Loren struggled a little. "Still unsure yet, are you?" Loren nodded, and Tanner sighed. "I couldn't find out who sent her, sir. But no doubt she mean to bring an end to your life."

The Lord struggled to look at Tanner just then, but managed to meet his gaze after a few beats of his heart. Tanner's hard and gray eyes met his. The man's graying hair framed his face, and gave him a gruff and imposing look about him, but the acts of kindness Tanner was known for spoke of a different story to Loren. Thea, the slip of a girl who helped Tanner around the Inn, had stumbled into Brandwell sickly-thin and covered with dirt and fleas, and fallen beside the road in her exhaustion, no more strength in her little body her to keep on. Tanner had scooped her up from where she lay without a word to anyone, and brought her to a healer to be cleaned and given droughts and herbs to bring her back from the brink of death. He had gifted her a room of her own, and clothes to keep her warm, then later the option to leave when it best suited her. The young thing attached herself to him as soon as she was well enough to speak, and had never left the inn. That was nearly a score ago now.

"I gather as much." Loren croaked again and winced as he swallowed. "What of your young one, then? Be she safe?" Tanner's face revealed no relief, but he gave Loren a simple nod. Loren nodded in return. "Good, then. The Gods smile on her, and keep her safe." Tanner grunted, not having much care to speak of Gods, which Loren knew. "When the time is reliable, can you uncover whom might have sent such a foul gift to me?"

The large man shook his head slowly, the veins in his temples bulged in suppressed embitterment. "Nay, my Lord. She writes that her position continues to remain precarious. Her husband's temper is vastly influenced by how successfully his ploys come to fruition. This failure will set her back." He paused, and for the first time that Loren could recall, Tanner looked forlorn. "It's never a surety with men such as he that the one thrashing will not be her very last." His last statement was eerily calm, and quiet. Loren felt a great shame in himself, reflecting at his own treatment of his wife.

"I pray then that she can slip through his hands long enough to find herself to safety." Tanner's dark, thick eyebrow shot up and he looked directly at Loren.

"Then in this we can be in agreement, for she last wrote that she has appealed to your House to abide a visit to her son for Yule."

Loren nodded slowly, knowingly. Tanner had yet to disclose the name of his 'contact', which had provided much intelligence to them over the last few months at the behest of Tanner himself. The many years that Loren and Tanner had known each other, Tanner had closely guarded the secrets he kept about the correspondences he maintained. The Lord had respected this as Tanner had proven himself loyal to the town, and the people who resided here. Though there were only three sons under the roof of his House presently, and one of them had a mother who already lived there. The Lord nodded, understanding well what Tanner had told him; the identity of this person was of great import indeed.

Tanner had arrived in these lands before even Loren had met and married Ursa. A man with no past, no surname, and no explanation as to why he arrived to the town of Brandwell. Only that he wrote a petition to Loren's father to open an inn, and that he wished to submit his fealty by oath of magic to the Lord Gresham.

The sheer strength and control that Tanner wielded over his magic spoke volumes without the man without having to utter a single word about it: The man was of noble birth. Whatever deportation, or shame, or wrong he had committed, he was no longer an acknowledged member of the line of his birth. The veracity of Tanner's wording as he had taken the oath in perpetuity of his service to the causes for the Gresham family, and his dedication to the flourishing of the town was more than enough. To break such an oath would be a punishment unspeakably painful.

"Your confidence in me is a great honor." Tanner inclined his head, and folded his great arms over his broad chest. Loren reflected that for a man of high birth, Tanner had taken to the toils of a working man with a great deal of acceptance, for it would be a trail to find another with the same sheer mass of muscle upon his person. Even to compare against himself, a man who saw regular exercise and maintained his skills in combat, Loren was dwarfed by this man.

Loren changed the subject. "What of the wretch that was set upon me?" Tanner glanced at him, almost as though he was looking down his nose imperiously. The man shook his head once in the negative. Loren's eyebrows rose in surprise. The fact that he appeared to have no compunctions about ending a life was astonishing. "Truly?" Tanner looked mildly incredulous then.

"Aye." He stated firmly. "She gave my Thea belladonna and dumped her down a hay chute. Could have overdosed her and stopped her heart." Tanner had a manner about him that seemed distant, and nearly cold. But where the safety of his foster-daughter was involved, the man was a fierce as any Lordly paterfamilias would be.

Loren once again sighed and gulped the last of the water down. Tanner refilled it one time and clapped one of his calloused paw-like hands atop Loren's shoulder. "Your body demands you rest it, my Lord. We can send a man hence to bring word to your family, but you are of no condition to sit astride a mount."

The man couldn't find it within himself to argue as his throbbing head picked up its painful regiment of beating at the back of his skull. "I'll have one of the lads bring up a warmed sleeping draught with a little porridge and mulled wine." Loren's stomach turned audibly and he automatically brought his hand to his mouth as a little wave of nausea swept over him. Tanner chuckled lightly. "No wine then."

As the Lord lay back into the bed, he had one thought as Tanner made to shut the door behind him. "Tanner-" He managed to wheeze out, and the inn-owner hesitated. "Thank you." The larger man nodded and closed the door as quietly as possible.

In the quiet of the room, with its unfamiliar dimensions and scents, Loren lay looking at the wooden beams in the plaster ceiling. The last weeks had been a series of unfamiliar beds, and a rigorous political dance that had ended with little favor to his House and his lands. Nevertheless, he had managed to survive by the skin of his heels. He groaned and wiped his palms over his hands.

The sheer amount of political jockeying was something Loren had never cared for, and had frankly never excelled so greatly at either. It had only been by the grace of having the counsel of Goldoduur that the Lord had ever been able to navigate the proceedings with any modicum of success. The absence of his Dragons counsel and wisdom had been much more than a dull pain within the core of his being; it had led to a landslide of political mishaps and disasters that was likely making the corpse of Loren's father come back to life to claw at the back of his marble tomb to break free and wring his neck.

He closed his eyes and began to still his breathing so he could slip in to a torpor, and control the incessant pain in his head. Our here at the border of his lands, Loren was alone and in the care of his company. Good men and lads overall, but he wished fervently then that he were then in his rooms, laying in the large martial bed, warmed at the side of his wife.

The memory of her smiling eyes brought warmth to his heart. Ursa would have drawn the curtains and gently lay there with him, stroking his temples with perfect pressure as she palpated his scalp. _His perfect wife._ He sighed.

His own foolishness had cost him. He saw that clearly now. His impetuousness and insecurity had been misguided and imbecilic, and what he had done to Ursa that day in his study demanded that he make restitutions to her. Emotionally and physically. His mind traveled to thoughts of her smile, her laugh, her perfect hands and he remembered what it felt like to hold her body in his arms, to feel her breath on his chest, and how she would murmur with happiness when they lay together in the mornings, warmed by the presence of the other. He missed her so much.

A soft knock at the door broke into his affectionate musings and he grunted as audibly as he was able. Doran again stepped through the door carrying a tray. With Thea in recovery under Tanner's watchful eyes, the lads would have stepped up to help the inn-owner, what with the very cause of his daughter's illness a direct result of Loren's presence.

The Lord accepted the warm draught first, feeling that his stomach would not be able to abide anything solid. The mug was nearly too-hot to the touch and it burned at the perfect temperature to scald away the lingering rawness in his throat as he gulped it down. Loren replaced the mug and thanked Doran before he lay back down, and allowed the dark to claim him.


	25. Chapter 25

**I apologies for any errors; I have no beta, so these fall squarely on my shoulders!**

 **Chapter 25**

Hermione's feet skipped over the stone floor as though she either weighed nothing, or she simply floated on the very air itself. Her smile brightened her face and made it glow with her elation. Her curly hair was pulled back in two twists at the back of her head, and her cheeks were flushed as though there was a snap of cold in the morning air.

She bounded into the breakfast hall that morning, greeting everyone pleasantly as she sat, only Draco she greeted last. Her brother looked at her out of the corner of his eye; again she'd chosen to sit _directly_ across from Draco. This, he noted, was the fifth time.

Their mother still had not made her appearance to the table, but the meal had begun regardless. The Masters had already finished and had requested that they make their meals quick as the Masters wished to see them mounted within half the hour following the meal for mounted combat testing.

At the completion of the meal, Tyt'o cleared his throat and offered his elbow to his sister. "Come Wren, let us get a head start on saddling that we might get the mounts warmed up and ready. We'll pull out the saddles and pads for these two as well." She couldn't refute him, but tried to keep her perkiness undeterred. Tyt'o knew now the reason she lingered at breakfasts, but his open face and innocent invitation brokered no evidence.

She took his arm and as he held her eyes with his, the identical pools of copper, she was unable to look back at Draco. She could see him in her periphery as he was watching the two make their exit. He scowled a little, and felt Theo elbow him in the ribs jovially.

"Haste now, friend, we ought not to allow our cohorts to take all the work from us!" Draco managed a smile. The word 'friend' had been bestowed most haphazardly, during the days of Lammas, but had stuck agreeably. The four had been traipsing around in the meadows in leisure and casual companionship, when Tyt'o had burst out its use.

It had brought all four of them to a totally different plane of interaction as it had seemed to melt away the last vestiges of hesitation and mistrust. Tyt'o and Hermione had begun to openly pull little gaffes on Theo and Draco, and they in turn had ribbed them back on some occasions. It was all tentative and with a little trepidation, but their friendship was forging along strongly.

The blond nodded his head and gulped back the last of his drink, and pushed back his chair. "Then let us join the company presently!" Theo smiled and clapped Draco on the back. The pair had come to enjoy with abandon the riding of the Gresham Horses. There were many varieties housed here, and while they consistently accepted whatever mounts the siblings bestowed on them, they oft wished that they would be permitted to ride the larger and more skilled varieties.

They had not ridden much this last fortnight, so when they exited the gate to take the path to the stable, the pair were shocked to see a procession of lads and men clearing and area that had been cleared and leveled in the dirt that large beams and stone was being hauled by cart, and hand-pulled wagons. Draco looked at Theo in curiosity, and he shrugged back, uncertain as to how he could answer. "What manner of dwelling are they building so close to the House?"

"Aye, and so close to the cavern that houses he Dragons." He noted in return.

The Gresham siblings were working quickly to gather the tack needed to mount the four horses. They had selected four clean and shining Norikers that stomped and whinnied in excitement to be ridden.

As the pair approached, Theo motioned back to the men working and hauling. "What are manner of building are they installing?" He asked Tyt'o.

"They've begun the nursery." He said smiling.

"Ah." Theo said. "And what be that then?"

"Once the wyrmlings have hatched, they will need shelter near the Dragon sires, and to be closed to their riders." He said, and Theo nodded, taking note as to consider the proximity to the large alcove that the Dragons nested themselves in during the evenings.

"But why would they not nest with the sires?" He inquired further.

"It will be more likely that we will all end up in one large pile of Dragons and men, in the end anyway." Tyt'o laughed.

"We?" Draco interjected. "What mean you by 'we'?" Tyt'o gave him an examining look. Once might consider it a little harsh, if he were being paranoid.

"In this, I mean that _we,_ " He pointed in a circle to the whole group. "Will be living with the wyrmlings, and _we_ will also be sleeping with them."

"Much the same as how when a youngling crawls back into bed with its parents." Hermione added. Theo and Draco frowned at that. "Did not you ever find yourself slipping into bed with your mothers and fathers some nights, when you were very small?" She asked.

The paid shook their heads hesitantly. Draco rubbed his neck, unwilling to expound verbally that, were he to enter his parents chambers, it would have been likely that he would have found a woman _who was not his mother_ sleeping there.

Theo equally looked stricken at the notion that he would have left his rooms for any reason at night. Let alone that he would have found a bed bereft of his mother should he have attempted it.

"Oh." She said softly, averting her eyes. "Well, once our wyrms have hatched, we cannot lead them to our rooms, and it would be cruel to separate from them so soon after we have bonded with them, so we will come out here and be with them instead." She said softly.

The concept still seemed a little strange to the two, but they shrugged and tried to accept the notion that they would essentially be sleeping in what was looking to be a barn.

Hermione made to walk around her horse, now that she was finished, and help Draco to place the bridle. Her brother intercepted her with one large stride and cupped her shoulder affectionately. "You work too tirelessly, sister!" He exclaimed. "Let your brother shoulder some of it for you, lest I be branded a lay-about?" His eyes danced as he teased her, and she gave him a side-long look and handed him the bridle.

Something about his enthusiasm tickled the back of her mind, but she brushed it off since she couldn't place it.

The four walked their saddled mounts out to one of the cleared fields where Sirius waited for them, atop an even-tempered gray gelding that held his head nicely, and stomped excitedly.

The four were bid to run a few courses atop the animals to get them warmed and ready to begin a series of magical practices while situated on a moving animal, so as to simulate combat astride the back of a Dragon.

Tyt'o pushed his mount eagerly as he rode, focusing on settling himself as close to his sister without putting her into danger and once their animals were warmed and ready, he continued to insert himself at his sister's side. At one point even, he saw her look at him side-glance and scowl. He merely smiled at her, reassuring her as much as he could muster.

He almost whooped in triumph when Sirius called him and Draco to pair first. It felt ordained that this should happen. The two walked their horses back as Sirius explained the track to them, and walked them through a few practice runs at a trot, then canter. The Master was very specific in his expectations, and how he required the first few runs to be at a gentle pace, and no aggression. He needed to see them on the animals and make certain their safety was paramount before they moved into true warring-level forces.

Tyt'o and Draco brought their steeds to their mark, and at Sirius's command ran their first two jousts, passing the other without using any magic to combat. Tyt'o couldn't help but eye Draco fiercely as he passed, his mask of jovial helpfulness in the public view of their peers had slipped, and he felt freer to glare at him openly.

The animosity being directed at Draco wasn't missed, and the youth was taken back at the sudden and dramatic shift in the demeanor of his new-sound friend. There was no time to quest an answer as to what set Tyt'o on his path, for at the third round, the pair squared off and the horses rushed, and each youth summoned his magic as they made their first pass at each other.

The force of Tyt'o's spell work struck Draco in the chest with so much enforcement behind it, that he was unseated from his animal and thrown backward against the momentum, crashing into the loose dirt upon his back. The air was crushed out of him, and he lay there for a moment, temporarily incapacitated by the shock.

Hermione had all but leapt from her animal to run to him as she watched him sail through the air, her brother walking his horse up to where Draco lay and dismounted casually. Sirius and Theo had rushed over as well, deeply concerned for the young man. Hermione had crouched down beside him, and shot her brother a pernicious scowl. He smiled weakly at her and shrugged his hands apart.

The Master clasp his student fiercely at the shoulder. "Tyt'o!" He admonished. "Was I not specific in the level of craft you were to employ on the first round?" Tyt'o looked at his Master apologetically.

"Aye, Master, it is my offence. The rush of the horses, and the excitement of the match made me lose myself a moment." He looked to Draco, affection absent from his face. "I do bid you my apologies, friend. My outburst was unacceptable." Tyt'o held his hand out to his sparring partner, and Draco took it hesitantly.

"No harm done, in truth." He said with nonchalance. "Shall we go again?" He offered, and grasp Tyt'o proffered hand and smiled back tightly. Their eyes were locked onto each other, and Hermione caught onto it right away. She stood up and away from the pair, unable to say anything to either of them as she was wan to reveal her budding relations with the blond, though she yearned to put her hands upon him and check him over for injury. She repressed herself and made to move away back to her horse to wait with Theo.

The pair mounted up again, and Sirius pointed them back to their start points. The horses equally pawed and pranced, eager to be released to run just as much as their riders were. From down the line Draco looked at Tyt'o and called his magic to him in preparation; he wouldn't be caught unawares this second round, and it seemed that his sweetheart's brother had some kind of a point to prove.

 _Damn._ Draco realized in that instance, but before he could think further on it, the call was made and the horses shot out at a run in their joust. The thundering of hooves and bumping of his body was all he could focus on as the two animals approached each other in another pass. As he unleashed his spell, he felt pressure along both his shoulders and an immense force pushing him backward for a second time.

Time came to a near stand-still for a few seconds as the riders reached their closest point in their pass. Draco's eyes widened as he caught the angry expression Tyt'o wore, as Draco's body left the saddle for a second time. As Draco flew from his horse a second time, the seconds crawled by, and his body seemed suspended in the air while he flew back ward towards the ground. _Damnation and hellfire._ Draco thought to himself, just as his body connected with the ground, pounding the air out of his lungs. _He knows about us._

The heir of Malfoy hit with a thud, crushing the air from his lungs sending him through a fit of coughs. He heard raised voices and the thumping toward him for the second time and he groaned as he rolled himself over. Hermione had leapt from her horse and knelt down beside him. "Draco!" She exclaimed, and noted that his nose had begun to bleed a little. She whirled on her brother, who was still mounted and marched up to him.

His horse felt her rage keenly and shied away from her, but she snatched its reins beneath the jaw and held the mare firmly, commanding her in place. She glared dangerously at her brother, and with her other hand, yanked on his stirrup. "What in blazes do you think you are about, brother?!" She demanded. "Master Black stated _clearly_ what force of magic was to be used, and you committed your understanding! You could have hurt him!"

His sister was fuming, and Tyt'o cocked his head and glared right back at her. He leaned down in his saddle closer to her face and growled at her. "You committed as well, but we don't see any consequences when you renege, do we?" She froze when he said it. It was low enough that she knew no one else heard it but them and she released his stirrup in shock as her mouth fell open a little.

"Not so brazen now, are we little sister?" He sneered at her, and he yanked his horse's tethers from her hand and gave her a sharp dig with his heels, and she shot off like an arrow, back down the pitch.

Hermione looked after her brother, tears menacing her eyes and she blinked rapidly. Behind her Master Black had picked Draco up from the dirt and brushed him off to look him over. The young man assured his teacher that he was well enough to remount, and Sirius accepted his assessment, but bid him to remove from the jousting.

She wanted nothing more than to mount her horse and follow her brother down the pitch, and knock him clean from his saddle. She tightened her fists and growled to herself, conflicted by the embarrassment at being called out. _She'd promised him she would stay out of Draco's company, and she'd done the direct opposite. She'd lied._ Tyt'o wheeled his animal back around, the mare prancing madly around and around, desperate to be bid to run once more, excited and agitated. Her brother's resentment and indignation painted very clearly in his eyes and brow, and he looked directly at his sister.

The young lady stowed her ire and turned away. She had no place to be in a huff. She had promised him, and then broke her word. Were he to do such a thing to her, her own acrimony would have been an eruption of screaming and berating. She had enough control over herself to understand that a confrontation in front of their peers would undoubtedly out her clandestine affections for Draco, and they would be revealed. Then nothing would stop the onslaught of punishment, both from her brother and her parents.

Glancing over her shoulder to check back at the goings-on between the remaining trio, she saw that Draco had remounted his gelding and waved to her quickly to signal that he was well. She nodded just slightly, unable to do any more. With a sigh of frustration, she mounted her own horse and Master Black mandated that she perform the exercise to perfection of his instructions, and the Master turned his horse to walk it out down the pitch at the young Gresham heir.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The lady of the House groaned as she rolled over, the light assailing her eyes with clear ill-intent. "Gods mercy, blast that drink." She moaned out, lamenting that she had spent the night previous in her rooms on her balcony tipping back most of the bottle she'd found in her husband's study.

Sitting up slowly, so as not to disturb her head any further, she glanced at the windows to see her curtains had been drawn for her and judging by the light it was around mid-morning. She groused further; she'd missed breakfast with the children, which she was loathe to do.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and hung her head, it throbbed with gusto as it reminded that her revelry came at a steep price. It was no wonder Loren would wake so groggily, and with little want to share in her spritely morning joy. She sighed, missing the feel of him beside her in the accursedly spacious bed. His arms were always warm, and wide when it came to her. He would nuzzle his face into her hair and pull her into him, pressing into her affectionately.

Despite her increasingly introspective, and eventually maudlin ethos in the night prior, she _did_ miss her Lord. In contempt of their recent stormy interactions, she knew she still loved her husband. She just wasn't certain she could trust him so easily. Her stomach lurched and she stowed her reflections aside as she gripped her mouth closed, breathing slowly through her nose. Her mouth began watering and she briefly recalled the first handful of months of both her pregnancies had been like this. She spied a chamber pot and waited to see if her stomach would hold, or would go.

No such luck for her, it seemed. She lurched forward for her blessedly-clean chamber pot as the stinging contents of her stomach made a theatrical entrance. Not once, but several times even.

She plopped down on the floor unceremoniously next to the pot and wiped her mouth with the corner of her night wear. In that moment, with sweat forming on her face, the poised woman cared nothing for decorum, stature, or her primness. This was a reason to wear off fermented beverage for a life-age, she concluded, and her stomach churned a second time.

As she heaved a second time, she cursed her husband's private stores of port furiously.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

An hour, several chamber pots, wetted cloths and a splash in the water basin later, Ursa Gresham basked in the late-morning sun on a common balcony. Wishing to escape the miasma of the curse of Dea Latis **[1]** , she found her liberation waiting for her in the warming sunshine.

She closed her eyes and nibbled a bit more bread, treading carefully as she waited pensively for her gut to accept her offering and be sated once more. The colic in her stomach seemed mollified in her offering and she continued to nibble at her plain brown loaf slowly.

Her mind felt as tired as her body did; the prior days considerations had weighed on her heavily and the realization that her husband was now overdue in his return from his convocation also made its way into the forefront. There would be much to do today, and time was wasting away as she convalesced lazily in her post-drunken state.

But did the air feel glorious! She smiled thinking then that, were she not directing the House alone, she would have been up at the dawn and roused for her day's task. No rest, no repose, no merriment permitted for her! Knowing she was alone here, she shrugged the shawl she wore off her shoulders and pushed the top of her gown along with it to let the sun touch her shoulders, like it would when she was but a tiny maiden. The Lady leaned back in her chair and relished the relaxation she had stolen away from her schedule.

It was in this state of innocent vulnerability that Rune Mora had come upon her, having mutedly situated herself just shy of the stone arch where Ursa was unable to detect her presence. Rune carefully cast a conjuration, both with great gentleness and great stealth. She paid much greater focus to the subtle art than she had with Ursa when they had joined at the feast of Lammas.

The Necromancer commanded the magic in her mind to slowly settle around the Lady without bringing it to her attention, and even though she shifted subtly in her chair, the Master could feel that Ursa had no inkling Rune had been granted an unrestricted window into the mind of the Lady.

Rune had deduced that the Lady was more sensitive that most to her intrusions because she was quite adept at them herself, thusly Rune's normal gruff and rough tactics would not work if she wished to secret herself past Ursa's awareness to glean the memories she sought.

After a great deal of consideration, and even a recounting of her prior conjurations, the Master had concluded that it was not the issue that Ursa was keeping information from her; it was that she had no idea how to make sense of what she already knew.

But Rune Mora could cohere such information with much more skill. Puzzlements were her specialty, and the trill of the hunt for elements to complete such a flummoxing riddle would leave her practically salacious in the urge to acquire what she wished.

It didn't hurt her efforts that Ursa nursed a considerably nasty hangover, and her mind was mired in a post-sick muddle.

Once she was confident that Ursa could not detect the riffling through her mind, she freely spread the wings of her spell and began to soak and absorb what she could.

 _She is small. Maybe 5 or 6. She is running down the hall, after her older sister, who is laughing over her shoulder at her diminutive sibling. Her dress is darling and little; it comes down to her mid-calf. Her long hair whips behind her, and she trips. Her sister keeps running, and doesn't look back. A little boy about her age runs to her side and helps her to her feet. There are tears in her bronze eyes, but the little boy smiles at her, and she smiles back. She doesn't let go of his hand._

 _Ursa's crackling magic flowing through her arms and hands as she laughed gaily with a young man. The pair weren't more than eleven or twelve; Ursa herself looked more rounded of face, and less-rounded of feminine graces, her baby fat has still to make its shift as she moved into womanhood. But her bronze eyes danced with her play-friend as the two played with their magic, tugging a quill between the two midair._

 _The young man pointed to a book in front of the pair, and recited the theorem contained within; Ursa nodded readily in agreement and he scribbled a note on parchment as she looked at what he wrote. The two of them giggled and she squinted over his shoulder at what he had written._

 _The young friend stood much taller suddenly, than Ursa, and she playfully pushed at him as he smiled at her. She was taller as well, but blossoming in a way that was not height-related. He'd handed her a few small flowers with closed blooms and as she took them, they bloomed as her hand wrapped around them. Her face bloomed as well with a lively smile, and while she looked back to her flowers an affection and longing passed over her young beau's face._

 _They were holding hands now, faces concentrating fervently, and together their clasped hands began to disappear as the magic they conjured together pulled their corporeal forms into shadows that could not be seen by the naked eye. Sweat was forming on their brows and their hands were clamped tightly together. The melding of their magic was intense and a force that radiated from the two of them like a heat wave as the spell moved further upward of their arms._

 _Her hair was long and unbound, and as she read her book her back was pressed into his shoulder and it had cascaded into his lap, where his fingers fiddled with it absentmindedly. His own book being his primary focus, he still looped his index finger lazily through her tresses and she sighed as she turned the page._

 _He was much taller than she now, and the planes of his face were more defined than before. The awkwardness of youth fading back as his maturation into manhood was well underway. She herself wore a dress more becoming of a young woman, filled out in greater expanse in the appropriate places and brushing the floor to cover her feet, rather than ending at her ankles as though she were a little maid. Her eyes were dancing as she showed him how she had sealed the crack in the window, her expression triumphant. He smiled at her with pride and cupped her cheeks with his hands, and leaned in to place the gentlest of kisses on her lips._

 _She laughed, and he laughed, and their hands were fastened together affectionately. He had changed the leaves of the apple tree into blooms and she looked up with joy and wonder as they gently tumbled down around her face and shoulders. In his eyes there was hope, admiration, and a deep love. When her eyes met his finally, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. This time, their kisses were familiar, and lacked the same degree of innocence in them._

 _Lightning flashed in the sky, and the room was alight for only a moment. He held her to him desperately, and their eyes searched each other in question, but too, in wonder. The contours of her face were faded into the night around them, and their breaths heaved mercilessly as he leaned in again, wrapping her body tighter still in his arms. There was no sound in this memory, but her gasps at his attentions were no longer as innocent as his hands lowered to her waist, and he pressed against her firmly. Their kissing was heated and divinely impassioned._

 _Tears tumbled over her cheeks as she wept, her mother's hand on her shoulder in comfort. She pushed it away and opened her mouth in argument, gesturing wildly as her mother shook her head slowly. She shoved away from her, clasping her palms to her forehead as she began to hyperventilate, then grabbing at her midsection as she began to crumble to the floor as she wailed her despair._

 _The young Lady paced back and forth behind her door, livid at her imprisonment. She shouted and cried and slapped at the back of her door, but no one opened it. She summoned her magic over and over, but she was deflected each time in her attempts. She pulled and pried at the handle, but it would not budge. She sank to the floor with her head in her hands and wept into her lap until she fell asleep on the floor._

 _Ursa's face was drawn, and a bit sad. Her mother pinched her cheeks so as to bring color to them, and smoothed her hair away from her face. The Lady smoothed her daughters beautiful gown, and picked at imaginary specks all along her shoulders. Ursa's disinterest was clear, but her mother pulled her chin up to face her and chided her with an elegant finger. The younger Lady's eyes welled with tears and her mother gripped her shoulders and shook her. Ursa nodded slowly, and her mother took her by the hand as they entered a Great Hall together, filled with revelers and many young people. She stood before a Lord and Lady, about the same age as her own mother, she curtsied and tried for the first smile she could bear in weeks. The smile was frail._

 _Her sadness poured out of her into the pillow she nestled her face into. There, in the dark, when the hour was late, there were no more pretenses. No more agreeability. No more complacency. There was her made raw in her mourning._

 _His hands were sweaty in hers, and she felt it displeasing. She only allowed her hand in his for as long as strictly necessary. He smiled at her, complimented her, paid her courtesy and praised her of her beauty. She felt bored. And sick. She wished she could take the contents of her goblet and rent them over his head and tell him what a pompous ass he was. Instead she smiled gentle and bid him thanks. She felt loathing all through her._

 _She danced woodenly, for she was numb. Her feet ached, but she did not care. She was tired. Her shoes pinched her feet, and she couldn't stand the sight of another Heir bowing lowly to grace him with a dance. She wanted to scream her objections into the room, castigate the denizens within for their pomposity and their sickening patriarchal castes. She longed to see his dark hair again, his warm hazel eyes. She was certain she would never forget the fire she felt when his lips met hers._

 _Samhain approached, and she felt listless in her embroidered finery. Her mother deftly lacing up the bodice from behind her, coaxing her into another evening of revel and laughter. Ursa wanted to shirk from the dress, and curl up into the warm bed, and never leave it. She wanted to feel her life ebb away as she slowly starved away from the planes of this place and slipped into eternal night._

 _He had handed her a goblet without bowing to her, he simply stood by her side silently. She considered him with great scrutiny as she stood there, and she sipped it. The mead was delicious, but she refused to compliment his family's vintage. She had no patience for compliance this evening. The dancers in front of them looked jovial, and delighted in the movement. She expected him to ask her, but he didn't. When he walked away, he looked back at her for a moment and smiled. She'd raised her eyebrow at him in confusion of his actions. So unlike a Lord he was, that she wondered a moment if he was one at all._

 _She'd been without a goblet for a song or two when she felt his hand in hers, and without permission, he carried her out to the floor with the other dancers. She opened her mouth to castigate him, but he laughed and placed her palms a top his. He teased her that she couldn't properly celebrate Yule without feeling the merriment in her blood first. Ursa thought him a fool. But by the end of their fifth dance she conceded that, at least, he was a fool who could dance._

 _The first time he lay his lips on hers, she felt a warmth that made her eyelashes stutter as they flickered. Her mind roared at her traitorous interest in him, demanding that he reject her own interest. She would never have a heart to love another. His hand touched her cheek reverently, and carefully, and she found that he was kind and of a good heart. She let her eyes meet his for the first time as he boldly leaned in again for kiss her once more._

 _The ribbons tied over their hands were white, and gold. Symbols of their eternal bonds. His ring was light and beautiful on her fingers, and she smiled so radiantly he looked like he would burst of happiness. Her gown was gold and ivory, and her hair was braided with flowers. It was the first time she heard the trumpeting of Dragons, and she cried out in adulation as the congregation cheers, and the Dragons bellowed their approval and blessings to them both._

 _The bedroom is dark, and Ursa is swaddled among the finest silks in her bed. Her eyes are wide open, staring at the canopy above her bed. Her long hair is unbound and splayed across her pillow, and her Lord Husband's arm is slung over her midsection in an affectionate manner. Her body is still vibrating from their nightly marital dance, and she's silently reveling in her own resplendence. The man beside her, her husband, plays her flesh like she is a musical instrument. And oh, how she sings for him. She is awash in confusion at how much she enjoys his attention. His delectable ministrations are unlike anything she knew possible, and her heart flutters for him more and more. She is undone as she closes her eyes and thinks back to those beautiful dark hazel eyes she looked into, and loved so fiercely, and has betrayed so utterly. Eyes within a face she will never see again._

 _Her heart was racing as though it was going to tear out of her chest, and she felt a cold spread all through her body. The light was fading from her eyes, and she tried to cry out, though her strength was wan, and the shell of her person depleted. The ache of birthing her daughter was the only thing she could feel clearly. The midwife leaned atop her, shaking her shoulders as she let the darkness consume her. She heard the fading cries of her infant baby and tried to reach out to take her in her arms, to feel her warm and wet body on the flesh of her breast, if only once before she parted from this world. She felt warmed then, as though she had slipped into a relaxing bath, and she sighed. And for the first time in so many years, she saw the smiling face of her child-love with his beautiful dark hair in its perfect waves. He smiled at her and it crinkled the skin around his dark hazel eyes. His lashes were so lush; she had forgotten. He took her into his arms as she lay by his side, after so many years apart, and he pressed his forehead into hers again and kissed her one final time._

Rune shook her head, and leaned back into the stone of the arch. The spell dissipated and Rune closed her eyes as she rolled back and away into the passage beyond, slowly. She felt tears rolling down her cheeks and she swiped at them with the palm of her hand in annoyance. The woman had felt _everything_ Ursa had felt, in every memory. Her joy, the excitement, the wonder. Her fears and her devastation and anger. How she had been listless for months, until it finally turned her to anger. It was overwhelming, even to Rune Mora, the great and last remaining Necromancer. The granddaughter of the great Thamoro Mora, she stood there _weeping_ as though she were a love-ailed maid.

The Master returned silently to the rooms she occupied while in the employ of the Gresham House, and shut her room. She did not mind that it was midday, and cared not for those who deemed it inappropriate for a woman to imbibe a drink. She poured herself a brandy wine and sunk herself into her setee.

The puzzle was as complete as she could expect it to be, it seemed. She'd have known that face anywhere, and it was true that Ursa did not know to whom her child-love had been born to.

The Lady's child-love wore the face of the Lord of the House of Gaunt.

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 **[1] Dea Latis is the celtic goddess of beer and wine. More pointedly this is like saying 'the curse of dionysus', or 'being hungover'.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Back after the little mini-vacay! Just a quick refresher: errors are mine. I apologize for any, and all of them. That's totally my bad.**

 ****THANK YOU** to all the new readers and followers for joining this little tale of mine. I hope fervently that it brings you as much joy, entertainment, and vapors as it does for me to write it.**

 **Thank you to those who have reviewed as well! I appreciate that you take time to share your thoughts, postulations and emotions on where things have gone in this journey. I would be lying if I said that knowing you are so entertained with this doesn't spur me to write more. I have no shame.**

 **Chapter 26**

The days following the swelling excitement of Lammas had passed, and the temperature of the days and nights had begun to shift in the valley of Morvan Rove where the great castle and House of the family Gresham jutted from the ground. The shadows were cooler, and the mountain air had become a little less pleasant and friendly. The sun, when it stood at the top of the sky, beat down with less mercy as well. But it was in the night times that the change was the most evident; where before windows could be left ajar to the open night to let the pleasant waves of cool in, there was now a bite of chill as soon as the sun was behind the mountains.

Even the wisps of evening clouds burned more brightly as the sun sank down around them, shooting vivid arrays of pinks and oranges across the backdrop of the pure blue behind it. The setting sun painted beautiful pictures every night as the light gradually faded out and away.

The youngest Gresham heir looked through her window to the outside, at the brilliant colors composed in the dying of the daylight, and sighed with a chuff of frustration. Though she was supposed to be reading her book, and taking notes for herself, she felt restless and irritated. Following the display that her brother had made in their first horse-mounted magical jousting, there had been building tension between him and Draco that had mounted to almost cataclysmic heights, for it had not stopped after their altercation.

Not to mention her brothers attitude to her had been anything but friendly and welcoming. Once he had declared his knowledge of her _interest_ in the Malfoy heir, she'd been met with a constant turning of shoulder that she had never received from her barely-older brother. At first she thought him joking, and followed him out of the breakfast hall like a lost animal begging for attention. Would he would not look or speak to her unless out of strict necessity, she realized that he was _punishing_ her for breaking her word to him. The times that he was forced to speak with her, his tones were clipped and short. There was no more jesting and joviality between them.

At first, she had been outraged, and had started intentionally ribbing and teasing him, only to discover that he would not take any of her bait. Once the realization had hit her, she had realized that he was, good and truly quite angry with her.

The reflection and weight of what she had compromised in her secreting away with Draco had cost her something she hadn't even realize she could lose. But her brother had proved every bit as stubborn as his sister, and she had been unpleasantly taken aback at how consistently he continued to snub her.

It had caused a tension that their mother had picked up on as well. Though, for reasons she could not unravel, their mother had remained silent over the issue. She granted no knowing glances, no words of admonishment; she simply left them to their own devices.

It had taken but a little more time until Hermione found herself feeling lost and adrift without the silent presence of her brother, ever at her side. Ever her closest companion. She knew in her heart what had transpired with not only a betrayal of her word to her brother –her partner in mischief and adventure, but also a treachery to her House and her family.

And yet, through all this, she continued to feel a pull from a place deep inside her that begged and pleaded with her to spirit away from her room when the light of the day was well put to rest, and to summon her young beau so that they could speak in hushed tones about the hatching that was to come, and twine their fingers together in their young affections, and their lips could reign delightful sensations upon the other. She ached every moment she had to pretend that she wasn't hopelessly and irrevocably enchanted in the notion of her young paramour.

It made matters so much harder that at so many times she had felt the disappointed longing within her, she saw the same torment writ about the gray eyes of Draco as they would gaze hungrily upon her from wherever she could spy him. They had been unable to see each other in private for weeks, and it felt like it had been a life-age! She flopped back into her bed with a huff of air and closed her eyes as she was certain she was withering slowly from within.

As she lay there in her petulant frustration, staring at the ceiling willing for _something_ to happen, for the powers of the Gods to come crashing all around her and sweep her ails away and let a wash of peace and tranquility consume her, when there was a faint and single knock at the door.

The daughter of the Gresham House leapt up from her bed and flew to the wooden door with an excitement she'd been teetering on, and ran to throw the door open so forcefully it would strike the stone wall and be heard down the halls. Just as soon as she rushed the door, a single slip of folded paper slid beneath it and she slowed as she approached it with great speed.

She plucked it from the ground and opened it. In Draco's spikey hand there were two sentences written that made Hermione's heart soar straight up from her chest and into the very heavens themselves!

 _Where you told me the story of The Elder. Mid of night._

She feathered her fingers over the words with fondness, and pressed it to her kips once. Though it was something menial, she felt herself well over inside with excitement. As she scanned her rooms for a place to secret away the little note, she corrected herself resolutely as she realized that she could not keep even such a small piece of evidence that would foretell of their forbidden meeting.

She looked at it one last time, and sighed before she called her magic around her fingertips to turn the paper to ash and dust as it fell to the flood in cinders and nothingness.

Once again she sat down on her bed and looked back to the just-fading light in the sky, and tried desperately not to count the hours until she could break free of her rooms and converge with him again.

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Hours had passed by like they were days, and Hermione had flipped on through her book in a daze as though she had not even truly been reading it.

Dutifully she had drawn her curtains a few hours following the dusk, and had snuffed out all but one candle. She had even left to her mother's rooms and bade her a good night, with kisses at both cheeks. Though, interestingly, it seemed the cheeks that she kissed were warmed more than they were usually, and her mother's breathe smelled sweeter than it would normally. The daughter waved away her foolish observations, thinking herself to be paranoid or over-thinking everything constantly.

As she retreated to her rooms, she happened to pass by Tyt'o's door, and she slowed a moment until she had come to stand on the other side of the tooled wood with its iron hinges and handle, and she hesitated in her steps.

She felt conflicted, standing there with her candle and her heavy dressing attire, her hair loose and curled as she danced on her feet for a few moments before she raised her fist to the wood. But she couldn't bear to rap it on the door. The weeks of apathy and reticence to her had taken a toll on her heart, and she resented how it made her feel. Her own brother had repudiated her, and offered no token to her to make restitutions to him.

From the time they were little, and full of frolic and catastrophe, she had felt there was an inseparability between them. Something unshakable and impervious to any force known to the men of this world. And yet, he had disavowed her.

She brought her hand back down as she felt tears collecting at her eyes. They were hot like molten gold and she roiled inside in a rage that they should not fall, that she should give him none of her tears! But yet, they fell, and she turned to continue on back to her rooms without another hesitation. She swiped indelicately with the back of her hand, struggling to try to fight them back.

As night had settled later, and she had long since sat in darkness counting the sands until she could silently prowl from her room. Hermione dressed herself simply and in something that would not rustle. She chose breeches of a soft cloth and a linen shirt and heavier jerkin to cover her top. The air of her room was cold as she dressed, but she did so quickly and settled into her most worn low boots that had the softest sole on them; perfect for noiseless sauntering through a darkened castle.

The House staff had all found themselves to their quarters and their family wings, and Hermione left her room with no noise that was detectable. She silently padded down stairs, and halls, carefully checking corners and holding her breath as still as possible as she travelled her path.

Her journey was slower in her prowl than it would be if she were able to ignore the need for her silence, but she hastened as best she could. The last passages until she reached the great cathedral-like sanctuary where the Dragons had roosted were darker than the night itself. The young lady very cautiously conjured a small bulb of light that illuminated only a foot in front of her as she carefully trekked down the final stair and into the chilled air beneath the castle.

The earth was soft beneath her feet, and smelled of the outside air; both sharp to the nostril and with the fairest hint that the colds of winter were on a horizon not far away.

She heard a sharp breath inward beside her to her left, and her heart leapt into her throat as she spun to face it, only to be met with masculine hands at her shoulders and a wan smile on the face of her flame. She smiled brightly, and the spell she had used to illuminate her journey faded with her concentration. She all but leapt into his arms, and he wrapped her in his embrace as they held each other without speaking. Their bodies warm and delighting in their closeness.

He pulled away before she did, his arms moving from around her, back to her shoulders. There was a faint light that made its way into the underground cavern-like area that made it so she could see some of the outlines of his face, but did not highlight him any further. He smiled to her, and she leaned up to place a kiss on his lips, as she had longed to do for such a long time.

He smiled in a way that reminded her of someone in pain, and he gently placed his fingertips to her lips. "We haven't much time before we must away with ourselves. I will not have you presumed to be compromised." He said firmly, and she frowned.

"I don't understand Draco, why then have you summoned me here at the witching hour? Mean you not to hold me?" Hermione leaned into him still, wishing that the warmth of his body were upon her, feeling her insides call out to every fiber of him that she could possess with her embraces and her kisses, and he groaned just slightly as he held her closeness at bay.

"I have brought you here that we might lay our deceitful encounters to rest, good lady." He whispered, and she cocked her head to the side, unnerved by what she was hearing, and afraid to speak further.

"Draco-" She whispered in shock and made to place her hand to his chest, but he caught it with one of his own before she could make contact with him. He crushed his eyes closed and took a deep breath, and she felt fear pool in her abdomen.

"This game we play is a dangerous one. Our Houses oppose each other as it is. My father means to use this training as an exploit to unseat your Guild's power by bringing them these Dragons." He sighed and looked at her with pain in his face as he confessed further. "But I have no stomach for such deceit." He cupped her cheek tenderly. "Your House, though it is supposed an enemy of mine, has shown we as scions of adversary Houses nothing but courtesy and care. I cannot be the harbinger to your ruination."

Hermione felt as though the air had been kicked from her gut and she stepped back from him, her mouth slack. "Then it was true." She murmured to herself. "Tyt'o's visions of your Houses great enmity for our own was not false." She closed her eyes to the horror of her realization, and in the faintness of light Draco grimaced as he saw the facts roll through her, and she recoiled herself with a lingering soft statement. "It was no game to me."

"I cannot allow myself to use you thus in my affections." He choked out, finding that he'd begun to fight a croak in his throat where his voice faltered. "You are fair and good, and shall remain unquestionably honorable. I will not debase your further." He whispered.

His final statement snapped something for her. "Debased? Call what affections we shared a debasement?" She spoke so softly, still so much in shock that Draco felt as though his heart would break. He shook his head slowly.

"I am the one without honor here, Hermione. It falls to me to protect your virtues. Not to try and tempt you away from them."

She softened and faced him closer. "Draco," she whispered, appealing to the regrets he confessed to her. "What we have is not sullied by temptations. It is not wretched, not is it baiting of evils. It is bespoke. Filled with something wondrous," she touched his cheek. "Tender." His eyes met hers in the dark of the night that enveloped them.

"I cannot honor you by offering for you." His voice wavered. "I cannot bring you to my House as my betrothed, nor as my wife." He paused, his voice shook as he fought his tears back. "My father-" he choked finally. "You would not be safe from him." As Draco crumbled with his hands in his hair, she drew him into her arms and felt his wrap around her waist. He knelt on the earthen floor as he wept, and she too allowed her tears to take her.

She placed tender kisses to kiss crown and shushed his gasps as she rubbed his back as he poured his sorrows away.

"Be the circumstances different," She whispered into his hair as their embrace tightened, and closed her own eyes with trepidation as she mustered every ounce of her courage to formulate her question. "Would you offer for me?" He looked up to her, his cheeks moist but his eyes full of something she could not place. Tenderness, and something else.

"Aye." He said simply, and at his singular affirmation she felt herself smile slowly and widely. Though the pair were replete with so many turbulent emotions, he stood slowly to rise, allowing their embrace to encompass her while he moved upward. She now became the smaller, and he as the dominant. He brought his hand to her chin and lifted it to him so that his eyes met hers despite the lack of light in their surroundings. Their eyes had adjusted to the dusky conditions, he could that she searching him with her gaze, and he himself felt that he was lost within hers. He swallowed. "By the honor of my noble House, and by the sanctity of my magic, I would vow to protect, honor and revere you for the whole of our lives." The texture of his voice had taken on a deep and throaty quality, and she choked out an exclamation as he pressed his lips down into hers, connecting them.

Their lips remained chaste, but the pressure behind them was filled with unspoken promises, and an inferno of passion. Hermione felt her chest filling with joy she had never know the like of, and though her eyes were squeezed shut, she felt tears trickling out of them.

When they broke apart they maintained their connection with their foreheads pressed together, and he nuzzled into her, and brushed away her tears. "There will come a day hence when your tears will be born only of joy, and never from sorrow." He promised her, and she closed her eyes.

"They are born from joy now, my heart." She whispered to him, and they kissed again, smiling together as their lips danced over and over.

When they broke again, he cupped her cheeks in his palms and captured her eyes in a fixed stare which bored into her. "I have no token to bestow you as proof of my intentions, my prize," he whispered reverently, and she caught her lower lip as her heart soared then. _He meant it. He truly meant it._ "But I swear on the purity of our magic, and the honor of my blood, that I will find a way to claim you as my own."

His proclamation had drawn magic from his being and as the sincerity of his words settled around the pair, and she felt a tingling all though her person washing from her crown to her toes as he finished the vow. She covered her hands with his own as she held back her tears of joy.

"I shall abide as yours and yours alone, and will bequeath my heart to no one else. I pledge you my faith and patience." With her own promise, Draco could hold himself away no longer, and he crashed his lips upon hers with fervor at their promises. Their vows to each other binding them in layers of magic that wrapped the pair in layer upon layer of devotion and adoration. Their breaths and little murmurs as they kissed were the only thing audible in the darkness. Their hands touched and caressed the others cheeks and necks innocently, yet with great care.

Their intentions now clarified, they basked in the last remaining moments of their stolen time together, rocking back and forth as their bodies emulated their dancing kisses again and again beneath the cover of the surrounding night. The magic from Draco's vow to her warmed them in their grand alcove and the lingering Dragon's magic wove through the air as the pair chucked and laughed merrily through their innocent caressing.

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By candlelight in the quiet of her bedroom, Ursa looked over the letter she had received the previous week again. It was a simple missive, without affection or frill, written by a senior member of her Lord's company.

Loren had fallen ill on their return journey, and had been unable to leave Brandwell once they had reached there. There was still no danger to his life, but that the long stretch back to the valley of the mountains was not plausible for him until the next week hence. _That would be this week._ She'd thought.

Her Lord's trip had been planned for a fortnight, and lasted for near two moons. Lammas had come and gone, and Mabon approached in the week to come. Already the joviality had returned in the House, and wreaths of sage with thistles, acorn branches and leaves, marigold, milkweed and dried grain decorated the Great Hall.

The time was upon them now at the approaching second harvest to finish old business as the House itself readied for a period of rest, relaxation and reflection. Ursa had made designs even for a lavish celebration with all finery on display. This time there would be wine from the year previous served, and they would hold the ceremony of Mea'n Fo'mhair by offering libations of cider to the trees as they marked the aging Goddess as she passes from Mother to Crone, and her consort the God as he prepares for death and re-birth.

She felt frustration then that she knew consciously was out of place. It had seemed that the whole of this summer had gone from one bad event to another, slipping their family into territories unfamiliar to them. As a wedded couple, they had not yet settled the matters of Loren's mistreatment of her; they had been parted for longer than she could ever remember and still unable to face the topic. The inclusion of Draco and Theo had proven to be less burdensome to them emotionally than it had been politically. Of which, the ramifications were still unclear, as Loren had not sent any direct communication to over those matters.

Many things were still out of place within their family, and for their House, and at the approach of Mabon, and Ursa was in a state of disquiet within herself. In prior times of turmoil, it was the presence of the Dragons that acted as a balm for their distresses. The soothingly low hum Goldoduur would make would create a soothing vibration low in his chest as he would listen to her husband, and converse in his deep vibrating tones. His wisdom always offered once facts had been carefully considered, and information meticulously combed over. His sense of fairness and justice were a shining beacon of righteousness, both pure and lawful simultaneously.

Though they offered both companionship and counsel, they also blanketed the community with an air of safety. These long months, as treacheries and turmoil rose again and again, an air of insecurity had risen within her mind. Though, she had often shaken it from her mind as foolish and nothing more than unfounded anxiety, they were indeed more vulnerable this way.

She handled the letter further, passing her fingers over the writing. It contained no specifics about her Lord's ailment, and no information as to when he should be expected. How could she plan to herald his return, then? Would it be with open smiles and words of affection? In the months he had been absent, the Lady had found herself in a position where she had been completely and totally autonomous, for the first time in her adult life. It had afforded her freedom she had never known before. The looming knowledge that her husband's homecoming was imminent pressed down on her mind in a way she was unprepared for, and felt agitated by.

She would be remiss if she trumpeted herself regal and philosophic in her solitude. Nay, this was not the case at all. The Lady had celebrated Lammas as though she were a maid once more; smiles for everyone, dances and drink for the entirety of the night. Though, she had paid a high price for it when the dawn had broken, she knew in her heart that her actions were not shameful, and thus she repudiated the idea that she had acted unbecomingly. She had been able to oversee and respond to all communications, requests of mediation, reviewed the leases of vassal families, as well as managed and settled account. She had tallied grain and food stores, oversaw the constructing of the wyrm nursery, and even managed to attend the Horse Master, Eachan, with some preliminary planning he had designed on some of their more important breeding pairs.

Conclusively, Ursa's months had not been idle while Loren had been in apparent convalescence. The woman had never felt more fulfilled in her duties and life than she did these days. Now, her Lord's return impending, it would mark a return to her previous dull and unstimulating duties, of which she did not look forward to.

Her sigh was long, and the breath she expelled rocked the singular flame of her sole burning candle. Placing the letter beside her bed, and gathered her quilts and fine bed coverings around her and lay back to savor the space she had claimed for herself solely in her sabbatical from the communion of matrimony. She smirked to herself as she purposefully situated herself in the very center of the bed, and waved her hand blithely to snuff out the tiny dancing flame with an indifferent wave of magic.

This time that remained as hers, and only hers, she would luxuriate in. Come what may when Loren returned, she refused to allow herself to dread it. She would weather whatever storm blew upon her, and would come to the other side stronger. Her confidence high, she closed her eyes in the dark and waited for the sands of dream to claim her.

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At first, she was unsure as to why she had woken, until the panes of the windows behind the curtain rattled gently. The force of air behind then was so great that it was as though a violent storm had approached in the earliest hours of the morning. It wasn't until Hermione realized that the potent movement of air around the castle was owed to no storm.

As her sleep-addled mind whirred, attempting to make sense of the noise that broke through the quiet, she heard a great humming. It soaked through her, gripping her to her very bones and delved into her soul, and trembled all within her.

Her slender form was up from her bedclothes like shot in the night. The panes rattled again with a thunderous force behind them. It was the _sound of great wings on the air!_ Her body leapt from the bed, ripping away from the warmth and comfort of slumber as she darted to her windows and tore open the curtains.

Though the night was dark, and illuminated solely by the nearly full harvest moon, she witnessed a great shadow pass over the walls of the House as a great mass passed overhead. Her heart fluttered with joy as the ebb and flow of the great humming pulsated within her in an unending melody. The wing strokes from above caused the air to forcefully hit the panes of glass, causing them to rattle each time the Dragon beat them in the air.

Her words were nowhere to be found, only noises of happiness and the choking of tears could be heard from the youngest Gresham. She spun around as quickly as she had arrived and tore the door to her room ajar. Without even a dressing robe, she sprinted at full-tilt to the door of her parents rooms, across the wing of the keep entirely. She did not have to knock, for only feet from the wooden entrance, her mother had flung to door open as well. Her expression of shock and elation only seen fleetingly as she grabbed Hermione's hands and ran with her to the balcony of the chamber.

The perpetual vibrato heard from overhead was almost deafening as the thundering of wings was heard overhead. In the night sky, reflected only in the light of the waxing moon. The force of air blew their unbound hair about their shoulders, and the women clung to each other in joy as they watched in renewed awe as the massive and undulating body circled around their castle again and again, the timber of his song surrounding them and filling the emptiness that had grown so hungry within them.

They could not tear their eyes from the sight above them! The long, long months had been so harrowingly lonely with their families dearest confidant absent for such a long time. Hermione's was beside herself with relief and ecstasy at the sight she had so missed, that she buried her face into her mother's shoulder and her tears created jeweled rivers down her cheers.

From behind the pair, Tyt'o had united with them, his face following the great figure alone the sky, and he wrapped his family within the protection of his arms as his own tears joined his sisters. With a final dip of his massive wings that nearly swept the roof of the castle, the beast dipped once into the valley and began his return ascent into the sky and around the highest peak to his return journey to his mate and their nest.

As he flew away and his form grew smaller and smaller, the harmonizing of his humming faded with him and the trio was left in their cluster, alone in the last vestiges of the night.

From his greater height, Tyt'o supported both his mother and sister as they swayed, unable to contain their emotions, clutching each other in the dark with murmurs of love and assurance, and happiness at seeing their Dragon after such a stretch of absence.

The slamming of doors and wind strike against the panes of class all across the castle had roused more than just the Gresham family; from their own doorways both Theo and Draco had emerged into the common hallway and found the other standing there in confusion as the noise had finally passed.

Though Draco's slumber had come only a handful of hours prior, following his clandestine establishment of his intentions to the young Lady of the House, he found himself roused to quite a vigorous mental state, though is body spoke of needing much more repose than he had given it. His fellow ward, from the door of his own room, looked mussed and sleep-addled, but a wide and excited smile grew across his face. "Dragons!" Theo exclaimed and Draco leaned into the arch, finding that a smile to mirror Theo's had graced his face as well.

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	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Tornadoes of dust and air flew up at the end of the red snout which blew in great gusts as the owner catnapped lazily, and Tom looked on skeptically at the beast as it languished without any remorse in the daylight.

Even in slumber, those massive lipless jaws possessing jagged teeth that, while fit together in unison, was a maw filled with razor-sharpened death and pain. It was no wonder the staff of the House of Gaunt had begun using the rear entries exclusively, as opposed to having to cross paths with the recently-arrived monstrous apparition.

The morning sun glistened across the scales of the red Dragon as though it were adorned with little glittering rubies, and Tom admitted silently that he would be remiss if he did not concede that despite its acidic demeanor, and increasingly alarming levels if aggression, the beast was a specimen possessed of a very lustrous appearance. If one could discount the arrangement of teeth and never-ending rows of sharp horns that protruded throughout its body.

It had been some number of months since the Lord of the House of Gaunt had returned to his ancestral castle with a red Dragon, of all things, in tow. Not only had the families occupying the lands surrounding him as vassals and serfs been stricken with constant fright and terror, the House staff had been so fearful they hadn't come within five feet of the Lord himself for near a fortnight. It hadn't been until he had a meeting in confidence with his personal valet and butler that some more assuring information has progressively spread around to those who worked and served the family of Gaunt.

Though, quite frankly, it had been little enough at late enough hour that there remained an air of nervousness among the peoples that came and went that they felt they should stay out of the Dragon's path. The cantankerous beast itself had similarly concluded that it wished for the 'unending scampering of vermin to cease, lest it decide to make one a snack.' This proclamation had done nothing to help Tom quell the pervasive fears of his domestics.

 _ **Speak your thoughts, fleshling. I do not prefer my day to be disturbed with the humming of your tiny brain.**_ The gnashing tone was acerbic and annoyed, though the great beast had not moved to acknowledge Tom's presence. The tempo of its breathing had not even changed from the deep thrum of its torpor-like slumber. Tom nodded his head to the animal and rubbed his hand over the letter in the inside of his jerkin, secured in his breast pocket, as an afterthought.

"My fellow Houses have intercepted accounts that the Lord Gresham has spent many weeks in convalescence following our failure to purge him from the stage fully." The Lord tucked his hand behind him, standing regally as he looked out both over the Dragon, but the vast lands surrounding his castle, dotted with both a forest to one side, as well as acreage of farm land opposite.

 _ **Degenerate lowlings never accomplish anything, little Lord.**_ It chided, and chucked darkly with its sharp clacking tones that caused Tom to wince.

"Indeed it seems that my selection of assailant was….." He paused as he tongued the word distastefully. "Ineffective." The Dragons laugh rolled over once as it cracked open the eye closest to the Lord, and considered him, though its head remained resting over its claws.

 _ **Your failure makes you vulnerable to discovery, Lordling. Your obsessions make you weak.**_ Tom's eyes shot straight to the creature, and his expression grew indignant.

"This is not about obsession, Dragon!" He defended of himself. "This is about reclamation of rightful properties, of purging the noble lines of their frailties-" The Dragon rolled its great yellow eye shut and huffed as its heavily armored limbs stretched to and from its body. The wings unfurled to capture some of the sunlight along the vast swaths of leathery membrane between the heavier armored frames. Tom's diatribe had ceased as he watched how lazily the Dragon responded to his defense of himself, seeing that it mocked him profusely and he tamped down on his urge to explain himself further.

"What then of my notion to mount an assault directly to the castle in Morvan Rove, Dragon?" He queried stiffly and the beast had the gall to yawn loudly, the cracking of its voice accompanied by a low roar at the same time.

 _ **Know you very little of Dragons, man-creature.**_ It chided and rolled onto its side, resting its head back upon the earth, unconcerned in Tom's desire to further their plotting. _ **The first inkling of our skirmish will send the sires flocking, and they will abandon the nest in defense. An incursion will rend the eggs unable to hatch, and the wyrms lost.**_ Its tongue lolled out from his maw for a moment before the monster pulled it back in with a swipe. _**I fancy facing one Dragon sire solely. If his mate is formidable, she can be of use to me sometime later.**_

Tom grimaced at the last mention; the implicated footnote speaking of defilement soured him for some reason. The Dragon bellowed a guffaw, the noise all clanging and sharp noises. _**You are verily uncultured swine, indeed.**_ It mocked. _**When the male is slaughtered, the female will be unguarded by her mate, and I will take her magic for my own.**_ The Lords pallor notably improved at the confirmation that there would be no violence of force involved. Something about that particular suggestion had turned envenomed within his mind as most displeasing. A corruption, as it were, of the most putrid sort.

The man rocked back on his heels, simmering in his frustrations. The Dragon spoke wisely, though without any hint as to what might be a more suited path for them to move upon. Did he have to initiate everything himself, he wondered? He glanced over the mass of the creature as it basked in the warmth of the sun and grumbled its delight at the luxury of it. He rolled his eyes and made to leave back to the castle to address the communications, and send one in turn out to Lucius. It was, perhaps, time he paid a visit to his fellow Lord. This time, without his scale-clad collaborator.

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At the very end of the road that lead out through the cluster of jagged mountains, the procession could be seen approaching the castle at Morvan Rove through the barbican, and at the head of the stairs leading into the keep, an anxious and fidgety Ursa Gresham stood. She had donned a dark red gown highlighted with threading in gold, orange and yellows along the neckline and belt that had sweeping sleeves and a modest square bust. Her hair had been bound at her neck in a multi-plaited braid, and hung long down her back. She sighed as the slow paced group seemed to inch their way forward through the valley.

That morning, as breakfast concluded and the group of four pupils had made to leave to their lessons with Master Mora, Ursa had been informed that a young lad accompanying Loren's procession had arrived at the castle bearing news of his arrival.

The lad had struck out alone through the final stretches of the journey, navigating the weaving paths of the mountains unaccompanied, and at a hurried pace. He had arrived early to herald the arrival of her Lord, and the company he had left those months past with.

The news had been met with much enthusiasm and commotion from both Tyt'o and Hermione; the pair were frenzied at the news of their fathers return and though Ursa had shared smiles with them, she had harbored secret feelings of dread at the idea she would be returning to her drudging tasks, and her more-oppressed days.

Now that she watched as her husband returned to her, the anxiety had been joined with fear of seeing him again as well. His dark and smoldering eyes, how they had been wild with anger at her in his study. Her heart had begun beating so hard she felt lightheaded and prickling of sweat had begun beneath her great long braid at the back of her neck. It was only when spots had danced momentarily before her eyes that she realized _she'd forgotten to keep breathing._

The wait for their arrival was entirely uneventful and painfully monotonous. The figures along the far horizon growing larger only little by little. Both the Gresham children had fidgeted relentlessly between the two of them, though they were still yet not on speaking terms with each other; Tyt'o still indignant to Hermione's mistruth to him, and Hermione refusing to admit that she had broken her oath to her brother.

At the final, most anticipated arrival of the group, Ursa had taken her last deep breaths and painted a smile on her face that she hoped desperately looked sincere, though she was confused and uncertain. In the middle of the group of men, a carriage had arrived that Loren had been transported within the entire journey hence from Brandwell. Now, in the safety of the mountains where no prying eyes could watch, the men assisted their Lords person out of the body of the carriage and into a sling to carry him into through the Keep and up to their marital rooms.

Her husband's face was pale and drawn; Beads of sweat tracked his forehead in his feverish state, and the hair head his face clung to the damp. Ursa's fears of facing her husband were buried as she approached with unease to his vulnerable state. She made to touch his sodden hair, but thought better of it and motioned instead for the men to bring him inside the castle and out of the evening airs.

Not much was spoken in their ascent, only that a female of unidentified status assumed the likeness of the Inn-owners ward and surprised Loren in his rooms, poisoning him with an unknown magic or brew that had weakened his heart and caused him to slip into a brain fever for these many weeks. As the Lady of the House listened to the account, and the treatments that had been used to stabilize him, she was hushed and calm. She absorbed the information in an almost numb state as she sat by the bedside where Loren lay. His breathing was consistent, but shallow and rapid. Certain signs of ailment, most assuredly.

Before the last men in the company had exited, she thanked them all with her customary words of gratitude and revere for their characters. She wished she could bid them join the family for the feast of Mabon but as the last man left, she found that she had no more words to produce to entreat such an offer.

With the door to their rooms finally shut, and their privacy secured, Ursa Gresham discovered herself reticent to turn and face her husband physically. She stood staring at the wood of the doors closely, examining the pattern of the grain and breathing in the scent of the oils she had used in her bath that permeated the room still.

The woman mustered the vestiges of her courage, finding that it had waned in her indecision of how to handle his arrival; she had not accounted that the man would be ill, and she would be unable to simply leave him to his devices. Ursa closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she exhaled slowly, and turned back to the room. She felt herself relax notably, seeing that his form had neither moved, nor had his eyes opened. She'd nearly expected that one of the two would have happened while her attentions were elsewhere.

She reticently came to stand at the bedside, and drew a backless cloth covered settee quietly so as not to disturb him. The face she had looked on nearly every morning, day and night of her entire married life lay before her, his ailment now greater than any she had ever seen him afflicted by, and she felt pain in her heart.

"It feels like you've been gone a life-age, Loren." She whispered, and cupped her hands together nervously. "Even though we approach a third moon since you left. Your word was that you would be gone a fortnight," She chuckled lightly. "Yet look how much time has passed." His face was unmoving, but his breaths consistent, and she felt her face darken a moment, emboldened by the knowledge that he could not speak in return, nor apparently heed anything she told him.

"The day we spoke our vows to each other, you professed that you should share in my pain and seek to alleviate it. That you we would share in our burdens so that our spirits might grow in this union-" Her whisper broke as she began to fight against the tears of anger that had begun to sprout from her. "Our pledges were sacred, and consecrated with the blessings of the Dragons." The tears burst forth finally, dripping straight down her cheeks. "These oaths are a bond, sanctified with blood and magic from our lands and our bodies…. And you have broken your oaths to me." The words trembled now as she struggled to keep her voice low, and controlled. Though she shook with the need to stand, to raise her voice, _to make herself be heard, if only once in her life!_

The woman made no motions to wipe away the tears, she plunged ahead now that the damns of confession were open and she soldiered onward. "My heart has been broken, and you will never accept your fault in this. I know you too well, Loren." She nearly smiled, her words reminding her of his stubborn nature. "I do not know if I can love you again, Loren. You have…. Wrought upon me a great harm, of which I am not certain I can ever find myself to forgive you for." She stood, finally, afraid that if she sat longer, she would fail in her convictions and breech the physical distance between them in search of familiarity, and comfort that would be hollow.

"I will remain, until my last breath, the Lady of the House of Gresham. The magic that blessed our union will not be undone so easily. But I will no longer be the wife of your heart Loren. Never again will I be your wife. I will remain under this roof, and abide by the laws which govern and guide my person as your Lady wife, but you will never again feel the warmth of my heart, nor of my body. Not while I still draw breath shall my will be altered."

The fabric of her dress rustled only slightly as she moved away from the bed, and collected herself to the wardrobes to don her dressing gown and sit her vigil by the bed through the night. Though her proclamation was true, and spoken directly from her heart with as much conviction as she could imaginably possess, Ursa would not abandon her husband in his state of suffering. She would remain dutiful, as she always had, but her consecration was as true as the pain in her heart.

As the soft and light muslin caressed her skin while it was drawn over her head, Ursa felt herself almost lighter than she had when she had received news of Loren's impending arrival. Nearly as though her admission had lifted something weighing heavily within her.

Returning to the main bedroom, Loren remained still and constant in his state of ailment. His wife nestled into a small couch at the side of room, drawing a pillow beneath her head and a spare quilt to cover herself. With her magic she waved away the open flames in the room and rested her head as she curled up and warmed her surroundings a little, keeping her breaths quiet as she listened to the steady breaths her husband took. In the darkness of their room, the arrival of her dreams was blessedly quick.

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When the light of the new day broke on the second day since Loren's return, his wife stretched both her body and her joints slowly beneath her quilt, feeling her muscles ache from their post-sleep paralysis. Her neck was stiff and she reached up to move it from side-to-side, and cracked her eye open to give her bed a forlorn look. She missed the comfort and luxury of having had it all to herself these last months, but did not dare to nestle into it while Loren's frail form occupied it now.

These last two nights had been long and tiring; she had woken several times to hear Loren's breath increasing and his fever boiling over. She'd uncloaked his body from the heavy covers in favor of a light blanket, and dotted his brow silently with a cool wetted cloth to ease his delirium. In the earliest twilights of the second day his sweating had lessened and his breathing had returned to a deeper pace, one that spoke of his body and magic working furiously in tandem to heal him.

Taking a deep breath in as she stretched now, she spied that Loren was as of yet, still unmoving on his back. His arms and hands above the covers as she had left them, still wearing his thinner linen undershirt. The Lady rose, and righted herself before picking up her blanket to fold it and replacing her pillow atop the folded mass.

"It is good to see your sweet face again." A deep voice practically croaked, and Ursa nearly jumped in shock at the intrusion of the statement into her reverie. She whipped around to see that her husband's eyes focused on her from his prone position. He wore a weak and tired smile, and his masculine features were drawn and narrowed by his months-long battle through his cursed sickness. His intense dark eyes took in her form in her light gown as though it had been the whole of his life since he had lain eyes on her last, and she felt suddenly self-conscious at his examinations, as though suddenly she were a maid again and it was the first time she was attired such in front of her Lord.

She cleared her throat of her own residual sleep, nervously. "'Tis good you have finally awakened." Loren's eyes did not leave her, instead they bored into her, though they were still moderately glassy and seemed unfocused to Ursa.

"What time has passed since my sojourn?" He whispered, and Ursa faltered. She had not considered her Lord would not have a concept of time as he had ailed and convalesced.

"We are approaching Mabon, my Lord. It begins three days hence." The man closed his eyes and sighed deeply, slowly raising a hand to his brow as his expression grew strained. He groaned and attempted to lean himself up. Ursa nearly leapt to his aid, automatically and without thinking, but held herself back before she had made any great show. Loren seemed not to note it.

"Take care not to strain yourself my Lord," she cautioned gently. "Your body has remained stagnant all this time, and the healers have advised that you use yourself with great caution." He nodded and leaned back again wordlessly, taking several steeling breaths again. Ursa slowly poured a goblet of cool water and brought it to the bedside to offer him, though did not seat herself beside him, she only stood close enough that he could reach the proffered cup.

Loren opened his eyes gingerly and slowly leaned himself up that he might accept it. His fingers were still chilled, but dry when they brushed Ursa's as he accepted it from her.

"What news since I have been indisposed?" he sipped as he watched her above the rim of the goblet, and Ursa broke eye contact to retrieve a robe with which to cover herself. His voice was still rough from lack of use, but the tone of it struck her and she glanced back over his shoulder to note that still his gaze followed her as she moved about the room. She found herself unnerved under his scrutiny, uncertain if it was suspicious or appreciative.

"The Masters have remained in service while you have been away, and the children have moved into more advanced combat training, meditations, and advanced magical casting. They excel greatly, and have shown themselves more seamless and united than when you had left. Breeding continues on-schedule, and grain stores will be at necessary capacity for the coming winter months. I have maintained your correspondences and seen to your audiences as steward in your name. The animals are healthy and in excellent conditions, and the wyrn nursery construction has experienced no setback or structural issues-" Ursa had not turned to face him as she had spoken, merely prattled onward through the mental lists of tasks she had seen to in his absence while she poured her own water.

Her long-winded account was interrupted by Loren without preempt. "What I mean to discover, my love, is how you and the children have fared in my absence." The familiar moniker caused her to freeze, reminding herself that despite her proclamations to his unresponsive personage two nights prior, the man who sat in the bed behind her still considered her his loving and adoring Lady wife. Accompanied by the knowledge that in his great absence, their sole daughter had been discovered in covert intimacies with one of the wards currently under this very roof! Biting back the lump she felt growing in her throat at the information she planned on intentionally withholding from him, she maintained her tone as best she could as she slowly turned, though did not meet his eyes.

"The children have been well, overall. Masters Black and Mora report that they have reached a sort of plateau of companionability together, in spite of the trials the pair design for them to test their resilience." When her eyes darted to meet his, Loren's face had no expression that Ursa could decipher.

"And what of yourself?" He inquired and she gave a nervous smile.

"I have found myself most occupied over this several moons. I have had little time for idleness." Her Lord nodded to her.

"Ursa-"

"Loren-"

The two spoke the others name simultaneously, interrupting the other. It was the first time they had used the others first name since Loren had left for his convocation. He bid her continue by raising her hand, and she wrought her hands together suddenly, her posture suddenly more nervous than it was before. She had moved nearer the bed, but maintained a distance between them that left him cold without her presence.

"It is my wish that I relocate my personal rooms to the old nursery, my Lord." She blurted out, causing Loren to startle slightly. Ursa had gathered herself, standing as tall as she dared at her bold proclamation. He examined her carefully.

"I have no want for you to leave our marital bed, Ursa." Her lips thinned as she pressed them together, and her brows drew together in a frown.

"I must declare then that it is my intent to transpose myself, with or without your consent or blessing, my Lord." She stated, very firmly. The man sat up straighter as he heard the finality of her tone. Her eyes this time did not waver or dart away. She set them upon him and her determination was evident to him. The Lord felt his heart flutter in his chest is slowly came to squeeze at him from inside at the thought that she would be so removed from his presence, as though she wished more than to only separate them physically.

"For how long?" He half-croaked and she inclined her head.

"Permanently, my Lord." Ursa felt herself emboldened, reminded of the words of her resolve from his first night back and narrowed her eyes just slightly, and blinked slowly. She remembered then that it was she whom had experienced suffering, and not that she asked this in supplication. The months of separation had strengthened her willpower, though in the face of her husband her initial reactions had been to waiver in her boldness. Mentally, she imagined tamping her foot to the ground in emphasis.

"You are my wife." He stated simply, as though it were some verifiable truth she has somehow forgotten.

"I am, and will remain the Lady of this House, Loren. But I will be your wife no longer." This caused him to frown deeply, not certain where this iron determination had sprang from, nor recognizing the firmness of her conviction. Emblazoned then his dumbfounded expression, she pressed onward in her statement. "I will perform my duties without dissent or objection, and remain faithfully to my station as Lady of this House, and to the mother of your heirs. With exception to those requirements I will be no more than that, my Lord, as I have no wish to remain as your wife. I shall neither share your rooms, nor grant permission to join my bed."

Loren was stunned into silence, hearing his wife's unyielding proclamation. He could not believe what he was hearing! Undeniably, there was a vast divide he needed to bridge between them, to repair the damage it had done to them. He had foolishly neglected to attend it prior to his departure; had this been what his wife had been ruminating in these last moons with him gone? His mind, newly cleared from his sickbed, whirled faster with questions that made his head light and left him slightly dizzy. He was beset with confusion, anger, fear and panic all at once, and the mixture washed over him, overpowered him completely.

"Then this would indeed be without my approval-" He managed to state as held a hand up as she opened her mouth to produce a rebuttal. "But I will not force my will on you." He conceded and made certain that his eyes spoke to her as loudly as he hoped his words did. "Not again."

His now-estranged wife's posture was regal and commanding, and despite her informal (though tantalizing) state of dress she ruled her motions with precision, and left without further discussion, as though his acknowledgment of his wrongdoing had meant nothing to her, it was left unnoted. Loren sagged back into the headboard of his vast and lonely wedding bed. Its largeness now dwarfing his singular form as the past months had been spent in much more understated accommodations than these.

The man leaned his head back, his mind jumbled and veritably overflowing with a barrage of questions yet left unanswered. He closed his dark brown eyes to the scene surrounding him, bereft of her warmth and love as he had so taken for granted until this moment. He righted his eyes and slowly made to sit to the side of the bed before he felt the tingling of tears that willed themselves from his eyes.

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	28. Chapter 28

I am totally thrilled with all the follows, favorites and continued reviews! Thank you for the encouragement, and I do hope that what comes will be enjoyable and thrilling for all the readers.

Pgoodrichboggs – for some reason your review did not post, but I was emailed about it. I could not respond to you directly! There will be some good surprises you will discover soon where Ursa is concerned. And oh, will the Dragons have some advice!

Feel free, as always, to let me know your thoughts. Heck, throw in questions or suggestions if you want. I do proof read my work, but now that we're moving into the 20-ott chapter range I want to know if there are silly inconsistencies that I can be addressing, or even things that just don't plain make sense! I do want to make this story THE best that I can.

On with the show we go!

Chapter 28

The vast stone and wooden halls that comprised the castle fortress of the House of Nott were much more opulent than one would expect from a Lord and Mage as solitary and secretive as Thoros Nott. The parapets were ornate in their designs with near-feminine elegance. The tower tops pointing into the sky with flourishes at the base of their cones, and the embrasures circular rather than square. Lovely buttresses supported the outer walls, and the corbels were rounded rather than swooped inward.

It had been rumored within the family that the founder of the castle, Thoros' ancestor, had built the castle fortress as a betrothal gift to his beloved wife upon her acceptance of his offer of marriage, and in his captivation of her, he had designed the castle to please her aesthetically.

Personally, Lucius Malfoy found it to be overly showy and somewhat ill-fitting given the irascible and singularly hermitical tendencies of the Lord who currently ruled it. His own castle in comparison was, though quite massive in size, entirely functional and proper in character befitting a Lord. It did not help matters that for all the years Lucius had known Thoros, he had never noted the man to be of the inclination to find himself so frayed by a member of the fairer sex.

The weeks and months that had passed as time moved forward into the final celebratory seasons of the year had been replete with a great deal of concerns over where the current stratagem was pointing the Houses within the United faction. Though prior to this stretch of time, Lucius had been accustomed to taking counsel directly with Tom Riddle over the concerns and ideas offered by other Houses. The tides had shifted, and not only did the Lord of House Gaunt no longer accept counsel from his aligned Houses, it had become clear that with the presence of the red Dragon, the Lord considered himself the unnamed despot of the entire caucus of Houses.

While the Lord of Gaunt was, in his own rite, a most impressive and intimidatingly powerful master of his magic, the amount of political power the man had begun to wield was situated entirely upon his own shoulders. The man maintained no form of counsel nor confidants; his inner circle appeared to consist exclusively of his own mind, and the red Dragon.

Neither of which Lucius was certain he could entrust the success of their endeavors. Nor, did it seem, could Thoros Nott.

The Lord Malfoy straightened his doublet, ensuring the front lacing was even and stately in appearance. His fair hair was bound behind his head elegantly and his posture was the absolute definition of regal as he stepped through the double wooden doors to the keep of the castle of House Nott. Their iron work accompanying decorative filigrees and ornamentations that complimented the heavy iron supports

The Lord of House Nott had been absent from the few gatherings and summons to public functions following Tom's successful collection of the Dragon. From Tom's account of Thoros' punishment, it was a wonder that the man had survived the Gaunt Lord's wrath once his deception had been uncovered. It was much to Lucius' relief that he himself was not implicated. Thoros was some number of years Lucius's senior, closer in age to his own father, but he had been a closer aligned with the Lord than he was in the majority of the other Houses.

An unremarkable domestic had accompanied Lucius through entry ways and accepted the cloak the Lord had wordlessly thrust upon him. The man had visited many times to the House, and needed no escorts around the vast interior. Today, however, Lord Nott's personal valet met him, bowed, and welcomed him inward as they walked to the Lord's private study.

Despite the midday light, the room was darkened with heavy velvet curtains, and the air seemed musty and heavy. A fire crackled robustly in the fireplace and wrapped in several blankets the Lord Nott sat pensively sipping at something from an earthenware goblet that steamed hotly. His ordeal was still etched across his face; his eyes were sunken and had a hallow quality about them. The pallor of his cheeks was paled and drawn back against his skull, causing his cheeks to protrude.

"If I didn't know already how fastidious your House staff was, I would assume you were being starved, old friend." Lucius commented casually as he stepped into the vast room. Thoros' attention darted to the door as his compatriot let himself in the room, his stride confident and swift. The Lord Nott's face sneered a little, drawing a thinned lip over his nearly-skeletal mouth.

"Might you have come sooner then, were you so concerned?" The older Lord condemned at Lucius, as his uninvited guest moved a padded chair across from Thoros, and settled comfortably into it.

"Indeed I could have, though I assume it would strike even the least observant man as an oddity were I to rush to your ailing bedside upon the heralding of your 'punishment', don't you agree?" Lucius made an excellent point, and Thoros knew that well. Once they had uncovered the ancient writings and texts that opened their understanding further as to the nature of red Dragons, the paid had resolutely concluded that their collusion should remain undisclosed, lest it be mistaken for an act of sedition against the Houses of the United.

The older man scoffed, though he identified the logic, he refused to accept Lucius' honey-sweetened excuses and silver-tongue demeanor without his own barbarous remarks. "And has the accursed red Dragon that our Lord Gaunt retrieved proven to be everything the man hoped for, and more?" His curiosity was mired only by his distain at having been unable to prevent this atrocious being from being set loose upon the lands.

The blond Lord nodded slowly, still eyeing Thoros, who sipped at his brew as he continued to ruminate in the mire of his speculations. "Be the beast as horror-bringing and appalling as the scripts said she'd be?" He said softer. Lucius nodded again and shifted his focus to the fire for a moment.

"Verily so, old friend." The older Lord shook his head slowly.

"And thus it appears the world be cast into darkness once again." He sighed, and Lucius returned his attention back to Thoros. The man took a long gulp from his goblet and winced as the hot liquid entered him. He gave a lengthy and wet-sounding cough, which he covered with the sleeve of his heavy robe as he made to sit up a little more straight in the chair.

As Lucius watched the man come back from hit fit of coughing, he took in the sight in front of him, noting that the Lord's dark hair seemed to have been streaked more than the last time Lucius had seen him. Though already a man past his prime, the extent of his ailment had taken a toll on him, and it showed very clearly now.

"Gods be damned, I'm getting to old for malaise." He croaked out and gulped back the remaining liquid. Once finished, he set his goblet aside and rang a bell that sat at his table-side to hail his staff as to his need. He motioned to the goblet in an expectant gesture when the domestic entered, so as to order more of what he'd been having.

"Don't you mean you're too old to be tortured?" Lucius prickled at him, and Thoros snapped his head to look at his companion. "Don't try to hide it; I know what consequences Tom spoke of." The elder hesitated, his breathing still accompanied by wheezing.

"I'm getting too damned tired to be suffering punishments like I were a child sneaking a desert." Thoros comparison was unusually sentimental, and Lucius snickered slightly.

The blond Lord scrutinized the man as he drew his blankets around his body, burrowing further into the nest of blankets amid his plush chair. "What mean you when you spoke of the world being cast into darkness, Thoros?" The younger Lord queried. His older companion waited until the retuning servant had deposited another steaming drink for him, and closed the door behind him to face more towards Lucius. He gulped back more and winced.

"My meaning is that a red Dragon allowed freedom can only spell chaos followed by death, Lucius. I mean that there were specific machinations behind the red Dragons imprisonment in the void lands. It was not a cruelty, nor a coincidence; it was for the safety of the beings of the world!" He'd worked himself up a little bit, and his body was wracked with heavy, wetted coughs once more. His frame shook as the hacking continued, and the Lord took a tentative taste of his brew once more to calm himself. "Before there were Houses, and Lords, and anything significant, magic was free and unbound to any lines. Men and women practices the archaics and lived in wooden huts and wore skins of animals as clothes. The great Dragons of Old ruled and prospered mankind with their tutelage and their magic, and shaped us into the wielders of magics that rivaled their own."

"I had no idea you were so interested in the histories of our magical ancestry." Lucius drawled, and Thoros scoffed and gestured to him in a shooing motion with his hand.

"Don't play coy with me, boy. You've seen my libraries; what information I have not uncovered is only a matter of time until I can find it. These great walls are filled with more than shows of frippery for a long-dead woman." His pride in his collective of information was not unfounded. Lucius knew better, but he couldn't help but tease the man, if only slightly. His austerity could be unbearable at times, and Lucius wondered briefly if the man had ever found anything in his entire life to make levity of, even as a child.

The older Lord continued, spurred on as his hot brew soothed his scratchy throat once more. "Dragons were once the rules and gods of this world Lucius. We were merely their pawns, their playthings. To be moved and influenced as they saw fit. They were not always the benevolent and wise begins that we hear boasts of that the Gresham's have cozied themselves up with. These beings were split into factions almost as stark as our own; there was no good, there was no evil, there was only whom was in power." He took a deep breath, though Lucius could hear how it pained him with the rattling sound it made. "With the exception of the red Dragons. They alone were the most treacherous, the most terrible and violent. Their views stood in opposition to anything that stood in the way of their desires; and their only desire was to destroy. To lay waste to anything, and everything, and to sit upon the ashes as the Kings of death and ruin."

"Their penchants for misery and destruction became overwhelming, and though the other Dragons, the Gold, the Silver and bronze, the Coppers. Gods, even the Blues and Whites. They all came together to confer and concede how best to rid the lands of the terror and scourge of the red Dragons. They were despised so greatly that beings that would normally spend the eons of their lives opposing each other finally had reason to set aside their differences to banish the bastards. That alone was a feat of mention that consumed me nearly a week in reading." He rubbed his temple wearily. "Dragon histories require a great deal of patience. The beasts be so damned long-winded that a man might die of old age before he reaches the end of a tale." Lucius chuckled and Thoros joined him, though only lightly as he wheezed inward once more, and cleared his throat to continue.

"There was a great Dragon, one of the very greatest and oldest that was ever writ about. His name so ancient that it had fallen into memory even by the time that men had stopped living in caves as beasts. He was called only The Elder, and he was a powerful and massive beast. The one creature that every red Dragon feared, and revered, though the repulsive beasts feared nothing and bowed to no one. It was he that devised their imprisonment. Chained them to the land by their blood, to spend the eternity of their existences separated and forgotten about for the remainder of time."

"I tried my hand at speaking sense into Tom, but that bastard shade is so consumed with securing his legacy, and power for his House, he had no desire to hear anything more than what he wanted."

The blond Lord had listened patiently and absorbed the lesson he was being lectured on. "Was it writ, this curse that was used to bind the red Dragons?" Thoros scoffed, and immediately coughed again. His body shook as he heaved and sputtered, gulping back once more on his heated beverage.

Thoros expression darkened with self-satisfaction. "Nay. Though the components to work out the curses were there, if a man was smart enough to put it all together. How we must lack for misfortune that I worked it all out, if only to solve the riddle itself."

"And thus the riddle has been solved, and we now rest in a quandary as to what to do about this beast of destruction that leads our fellow Lord." Lucius added. "The damnable thing makes the man impossible to oppose."

"Aye that it may." Thoros nodded, and smiled wickedly. "Unless, of course we find other Dragons willing to take up the cause against the red Dragon once again."

Lucius outright laughed. "Your ails are far greater than I imagined, Thoros, if you believe us to be able to find free and sympathetic Dragons willing to participate in the warfares of men." The older man scoffed at the jest being poked at him.

"I spoke nothing of courting Dragons with no alignments. Wild Dragons are rare enough anymore, and the ones remaining ignore men as though we were little more than insects at their feet. I speak of the Dragons of Harben, and the Dragons of Abildgaard." Lucius' eyes narrowed.

"Pray tell then, how you have planned to achieve success in convincing the lost Houses to join a cause they have long-since forsaken?" The man's voice had dropped a little with condescension. The Lord of Malfoy had overseen many of the previous efforts to court and entreat with the Houses that had broken from the larger factions, and had been thwarted every time in planting seeds of interest with them. Thoros Nott's response was to cackle with laughter, which was accompanied with a few more soggy sounding coughs.

"'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'." Lucius rose a single eyebrow to the aphorism, and proceeded with interest.

"Indeed it is, old friend." The elder cleared his throat and wetted his mouth with a gulp of his mélange.

"The Silver might have broken from their sovereign Gold, but that does not mean that the beasts are not equally as sanctimonious and secular in their thinking; only that they do not wish to be ruled. The Coppers are incidental; Weaker in fortitude, they are. Follow the Silvers and Golds to death, they would."

"So win the Silver, and take Copper as well."

The older man nodded, and Lucius smiled conspiratorially with his companion.

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The first of the three days of Mabon had finally come, and the castle of House Gresham was bustling with activity to put the final touches of the first of three feasts together. Ursa Gresham sat on a chair near a small writing table as she swept her attention over a list of supplies and another of dishes that the buttery and confectionaries planned to create, the warmth in the ante chamber of the kitchen was friendly and inviting. The Lady enjoyed her brief sojourns to the cooking staff; the group were merry and generous, always offering their Lady plates of vittles to partake on, and asking after the growing heirs.

Today she slowly savored fresh ginger bread, which was warm from the oven still and possessed of a lovely pungent spice. The flavor warmed her delightfully. This particular duty was one she had never had an objection to as the Lady.

The head of the kitchen, a wide woman who wielded a large white apron and an impossibly old and prominent wooden spoon at her side, like scepter or mace, bustled about the main table in her preparations and nodded dutifully when Ursa provided her approvals and signature to the sheets. She thanked the woman for the thoughtful offering and praised her good humor and generosity. The staff never minded the Lady being present to perform regular checks and monitor store levels, as there was no undue scrutiny, and no demanding presence they had to endure from her.

As the Lord had remained in his rooms as he continued to build back his stamina, Ursa had continued to oversee the functions of the House. The day following their discussion of their marriage, her personal effects had been moved to the rooms adjoining, complete with toilet items and wardrobe. The Lady continued to enter and leave through the doors which led to the Lord's suite, but she did not tarry to speak with him when she did; she minded herself directly to her own quarter.

Loren had been largely on his own through these days. He faded in and out of unconsciousness the first day, and was able to gradually find himself awake for longer periods the second. It was on that third day that he discovered he had a maddening desire to pull himself to a stand and to attend to his washing and dress, only to find that he tired easily, and the core of his person tired quickly. It had become frustrating to be bound for so long in a supine position, and the man was reaching the end of his patience with it.

His wife had risen and slipped away so quickly that it had not even stirred him as she crossed their former shared room. Loren had simply awoken sometime in the midmorning to find himself alone in their vast bed, remembering as he'd reached for another warm body, that none would be present.

The man rubbed his hands down his face and sighed at the current state of his affairs. So much had shifted so drastically, and in such a short duration of time that it was difficult to reconcile it all. He knew one thing with certainty however, and it was that he was consumed with concerns as to how to win his wife back to him, and mend the damage he had done to her.

Regret had been etched in his heart as soon as he had ceased throttling her smaller body, it had plagued him every waking moment since that day, and often came back to haunt him during his dreams. How low he had sunk in his jealousy and insecurity over something as insignificant as the benign attentions of Sirius Black. Ursa had proven herself loyal and true for nearly a full score in marriage; it was as if the fears that caused the blackness within him came from nowhere to devour him.

Loren knew when he had won Ursa in their youth, that there was some degree of reluctance she had exhibited when he first approached her. But they had found their stride together soon enough. At first his brazen interest with her had broken some of her reluctance, which had paved the way for them to discover they conversed easily over common subjects. The ensuing joyousness they had found together was not false. Loren knew that very well.

The Lord, who was in truth no longer a younger man, rolled himself up and out from the bed clothes. As he made to stand he closed his eyes and murmured a silent prayer to the Gods, and to their Dragons that he could find a way to make the wrongs he had committed righted. He loved his wife with every last vestige of his heart, and if it took the entirety of the rest of his life to show her how much she meant to him, then it would be a life well-spent.

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The Masters, in an uncharacteristically merciful gesture, had released their four pupils after a dueling lesson designed to help the four further channeling their focus in dueling while utilizing spells based in blood magics. Both Masters Black and Mora, though generally persons which would have abhorred the others presence, made a most dynastic pair when it came to the combined lessons they had devised to heighten the challenges, and stress on increasing the skills of their students.

Between Sirius's flirtatious nature, and Rune's rigorous self-disciplined austerity, they were often at odds as the man would frequently try to barb the woman, yet she would utterly and completely cast his commentary asunder with glowing glares and scowls. Or every worse; she would treat him as though he had not spoken whatsoever, which seemed to be the most effective at showing Sirius Black that she was completely immune to his brand of coquetry.

In earnest, the man did enjoy trying to find some ways to break his teaching-partners hardened exterior down in his petty tactics of humor. He knew there was no heat behind his whimsy, nor any serious intent. Her interests in him as a member of the supposed stronger sex were completely without presence.

In contrast to this; their collaborative teachings had escalated their lessons to heights of which even they had not devised before! The students oft left their lessons with dragging feet, and wiping their brows of sweat. Ursa reported to them that, following meals, she would seek each of them through the wall using her magic and she found that behind each of the four doors there was no significant activity occurring. This was greatly to her own relief after the unveiling that Hermione and Draco had been secreting away together all around the castle, at all hours during their free time.

That had greatly put her heart at ease, and was almost the whole reason she continued to check all four of the pupils each night. With Loren home, a second uncover of their night time rendezvous would spell disasters she did not even wish to entertain.

This afternoon the Masters had not only dismissed their small group, they had only had the four practice for a few short hours, and had bidden that their assembly collect their finery and prepare to attend with them to bring offerings of cider into the woods to the eldest of the trees, so that they could oversee one of the more noted traditions of Mabon.

Overjoyed at the early release, the four had wasted no time in retreating to their rooms to bathe, prepare and dress themselves again. Both Theo and Draco had entered and discovered that atop their goose-feather duvets there was each a tailored and fitted doublet. Each was made with hand brocaded stitching, and very elegant cutting in the arms where it connected with the forearms. Draco's was a deep blue and golden stitch with lighter highlights of blues and greens. Theo found his own in a rich Russet with Reds, golds and hinting yellows. They were utterly decadent and perfectly fitting each young man.

The pair, once cleansed and dressed, donned them most appreciatively and proudly before leaving their rooms, clear that each were a gift for the celebrations ahead. It seemed to be all they could do to contain themselves in their mirth that they did not bound down the corridors and stairways together to meet at the Great Hall.

Though the pair were jovial, and loosened by the break in routine, when they reached the foyer before the Great Hall, the sight that greeted them was somewhat jarring.

For the first time in several moons, stood Loren Gresham, and at his side, though smiling as she always did, stood Ursa Gresham. Her face, though, was what seemed the most out of place. Her smile was ever-present, that was certain, but her eyes seemed heavy and tired. Their normal shine lacked the usual luster, and her shoulders were not held with as much a kingly manner.

It was Theo's face that gave them away. Where Draco retained his stony mask, his compatriot appeared dismayed and inquisitive. The Lady straightened as she took in the sight of the pair, and did brighten then, but it was still not as luminous as she would normally have been. She spoke before Loren had an opportunity to question anything.

"It brings great joy to my heart that you bear our gifts this evening. The colors are as fine as I remember them." Theo bowed first, and made a bid for her hand, which she presented to him as though she would have Tyt'o. The gesture was familiar without being flirtatious, and Loren watched that simple intimacy with great interest. _What all had happened in the months he had been away for this stripling to win such a gesture from the Lady of the House? How had his own heirs perceived it?_

As though the answer was ordained by the Gods themselves, Hermione and Tyt'o had both joined with the gathering group with smiles and greetings, and no untoward notice of anything amiss between Theo and their mother. The Lord felt himself almost terribly left out, though his son and daughter greeted him with embraces and kisses of joy at his presence.

"Might I presume the honor of leading you to the stables, my Lady?" Theo asked of Ursa, and she tilted her head as she smiled. The kindnesses she received from him had been a comfort and blessing in these last months, and the trepidations sewn deeply before their visit had begun had melted to the wayside. The woman patted his hand in affection.

"You are always so kind and attentive, Theo. Alas, it has been such a time since I have been with my Lord and Husband that I believe he might feel me a might neglectful were I to accept."

Theo noted in her statement that she said nothing about having missed her Lord, only that she could not neglect him. He nodded and handed her palm to Loren, and bowed to the Lord. He smiled even, though it felt less genuine.

The young man who would someday assume the helm of the House Nott was not blind. Nor was he ignorant. The herald of her Lord's arrival had changed the atmosphere surrounding the Lady, and he was not immune to it. The tension in the air felt the exact same when his own father returned from any travel or sojourn, and the air surrounding them was thick with her worrying.

Loren's absence had been hard for the Lady, though not in the way one would expect from a woman in love. Her manner had changed somewhat when the man had been away. She'd grown more confident, laughed more, smiled deeper, she'd danced with the same exuberance as a maid would have during Lammas. But many mornings when she was there with the younger denizens of the House, he'd seen her eyes looking tired and glassy. On a few of those mornings, he could smell the bite of wine on her breath as well.

Whatever demons she battled, he had not known. But seeing them together now, he suspected it was not related to his absence, but rather his return.

For a brief moment, Theo imagined himself as a Lord in his future with a Lady at his side. His hope that she would be as sharp, grace-filled and gracious as Ursa, and he formed a vow to his future bride that when those days were upon him, that he would shelter her as she deserved.

As Loren accepted his wife's palm from the younger man, Theo gave Ursa a flash of a sad smile. But she clucked at him, bluffing in her show of attention to Loren. "The young Lord has been a paragon of honesty and honor these months." She hoped her comment would convey the context of his attentions as nothing more than virtuous, and she prayed that Theo, too, understood her appreciation for his kindnesses.

Theo looked directly at Loren, and his gaze was steady only a moment longer than was strictly respectful. If Theo was but two score older, or she the younger, he would have had no qualm about placing a demand upon the Lord Gresham where dominion over Ursa was involved.

In his heart, he knew that it was unfounded. It was unreal, in its own way, the affection he felt for her because it was not created out of the desire to hold her, nor any urgency to make her his own. It was a sense within him that she _needed_ a person to treat her as their equal, and not as merely a puppet of a person.

Theo's blue eyes met Loren's brown ones in that moment, and the truth of it rang like a bell within his conscience. She _defended_ his very touch as though her Lord had reason to question any reasons for it. It was only for the briefest of moments that Theo imagined what his fist would feel like if it were to connect _fully_ and _forcefully_ with the socket of Loren's eye. In lieu of an act of violence, he managed to grind out a smile. "An honorable Lady of the House deserves no less, especially when she is so kind, and pure." He selected the words precisely to convey his meaning, and he bowed to Loren, and Ursa in turn.

The young Nott joined his customary training cohorts, and Ursa remained connected to her husband at the hand behind them as the troupe led themselves out to the stables. The pair headed up the rear of the excitement, watching on as the two pairs conversed with ease as they accepted their mounts and saddled up.

It was only when Loren made to lift Ursa to her saddle that she broke her contact with him with silent refusal, sliding astride her horse without accepting his hand. He looked up to her face, but she would not meet his eyes. _A Lady of this House, but not my wife._ The slight was poignant.

The couple spoke nothing, though Ursa neither urged her horse faster, nor allowed it to plod slower. She rode beside him in silence, merely observing their children and their wards without speaking to him. Loren glanced at her several times, but she returned nothing to him.

Her hair had gotten longer, he realized, seeing as how she needed to move it from getting caught beneath her when she'd eased into the saddle. And the corners of her mouth drew in a little more than they had normally. _From whence had this occurred?_ He wondered. Had he simply never noticed it before now?

The last months of his life had been spend in and out of a conscious state, feverish and confused. Sometimes speaking of nonsense, other times waking with a start in the night after a bout of night fevers and dreams of violence and terrors he could not make sense of. It had wrung him thin. And now, only feet from the woman who was his closest confidant, but too his most beloved, he felt stricken by loneliness. Within his periphery he could see her delicate hands as they held her reigns and how her arms were draped in sumptuously dyed velvet.

There had never been a time he had been so desperate to take her into his arms -rejection of their vows or not- to feel her against him. Her familiar warmth, the scent of her skin, the welcoming of her embrace. He breathed deeply, and swallowed down the tightness that had grown in his chest that he was certain would turn him to tears if he continued to ache so openly for her.

Their trek did not last long, for it was only into part of the forest that they journeyed. They had brought with them a bladder of fermented cider, and a flask of wine. Their exuberant younger-companions had fixated on a vast and thick tree which was nearly as wide around as a great Dragon itself, and the four looked on delightedly as they laid a small kerchief down and placed items of plenty within it.

Their own private turmoil's aside, Loren clasp his wife's hand as she knelt down at the roots of the tree and placed her hands upon its roots. Her soft hair fell unbound to the ground as a yellow glow emanated from her palms. The five surrounding her knelt as well, bowing their heads in silent prayer as she spoke to the spirits of the woods, and to the Gods themselves.

"In the name of Mea'n Fo'mhair, we honor the Gods of the Forests for their protection and wisdom. Long may we share in their magic and their teachings. We pay veneration to the aging Goddess as she passes from a mother to a crone. Her consort takes her hand as he, too, prepares for death before his re-birth once again."

"We honor you have blessed our lands and our people. That our harvests have been plenty and that our people will know now hardship. As the last hours of our year draw to close we finish our interests of old, to ready for the new."

"We seek balance in this time of celebration that we might esteem in our bounties, and we might remember those who have passed and be comforted by those whom remain. That we might find harmony and balance within ourselves."

As Ursa's words of blessing had passed by her lips, little hyters and brownies had gathered all around the kneeling group as they danced through the air around. From the earth beneath her palms there flourished a rapidly growing moss that unfolded and crawled its way over the tree they knelt beneath, wrapping the exposed bark with living foliage as a cloak.

"We bring to you our thanks, and pledge our magic that you too, might flourish and see plenty." She whispered finally. From behind her, Tyt'o handed Theo the cider, and Hermione handed Draco the wine, and the two wards emptied their vessels of the liquid atop the roots of the tree in offering.

They gathered their hands and together they spoke in unison, feeling their own magic reach out towards the trees, and for each other. "So mote it be." With the closing of their prayer-blessing, the air surrounding them had begun to shine brightly as though miniscule little diamonds floated within it. A great glittering cloud about the tree had former, and the ancient timber seemed to groan a little as it swayed just slightly.

Their offerings made, and their magics cast to cement their pledges, they rose once again. The ritual was short, and sweet this time and no one dawdled in getting back to their horses. Though, most comically it was fortunate that they had not had to wait any extra time for one of the mounts to provide the portion of the blessing that required fertilizer. Such was the reality of a House whose sigil was partly comprised of a horse.

Later, when the feast had reached its peak and the music played was merry and wild, Loren sat back pensively as he watched the festivities within his Great Hall. Once again it had been a prosperous year, and there were many things for which he knew he was fortunate over: His children both excelled in their study, and their teachers praised them often for their control and focus. Their undesirable wards, it seemed, had also found their stride while beneath the roof. As Loren gingerly sipped at a spiced and warmed wine, he watched as his wife's palms passed from their son's to Draco's to their horse master Eachan, to Theo's as their courtly formation in a circle continued. The ladies dipped and jumped around the men who skipped in circles, and there was nothing but merriment and joy to be heard.

The Lord of the House of Gresham was not prepared to push Ursa by engaging her out on the floor. Her smiles shone brightly as she jumped and ducked for a round once more, and her husband watched with interest. By and far watching her happiness from where he sat was like a knife pushing inside his chest, but he rationalized that it he were to suffocate her, his chase of her would never end.

As the Lord smiled in his joviality, his attention consumed with plots and schemes of his bride, it escaped him entirely that as his daughter danced, it was upon Draco's hand that she solely made contact. Where the dancing only called for contact when a man lifted his lady, it was the manner to allow the palm to hover without touch. Their familiarity should have been something he noted, but he had no nose for sniffing out any impropriety; only for that of his wife.

With heavy breaths and a clapping her hands to the music as so many onlookers did surrounding the dance, Ursa returned once to her place at Loren's side to perch a moment and dab at her forehead discretely. He turned slightly to smile at her. "Your feet are still as light as the first time I saw you dance." He chuckled, and she stiffed slightly at his attempts to strike up a conversation. She could not shun him openly, so she sighed.

"There is much joy in our House, and much happiness to share." She said simply and she sipped from her goblet, letting it hover at her mouth as a barrier to any more conversation.

"Imri loves the music in Lamas and Mabon. I wish she could hear it now from her lonely mountain." Loren said softly, knowing the mention of their Dragons would draw his wife out of her icy posture. He wasn't disappointed, because her face was suddenly alight at the mention of the Dragon sires mate, and she turned to him with a newfound earnest expression upon her.

"My Lord, why would the Dragon sire leave his roost when the hatching draws nigh?"

Loren faltered a moment before his incredulous reply was given. "A Dragon sire leaves only to defend his nest. There is no other reason in heaven or on the plains of the Earth for him to do otherwise." His wife tilted her head slightly.

"He would not come back to the castle then? Not for any reason?" Loren shook his head, slowly.

"Nay. If Goldoduur left the nest, it would be a mightily terror he was preparing to rain down from the skies as he flew." She pressed on.

"Surely you are wrong?" Loren was unsure as to where her line of questioning sprung from, but it made him uneasy to the fullest.

"Nay, wife mine. Never in the histories of our Dragons has a sire left his mate for any other reason than to do battle in defense of their young. There would be no other reason. Why do you ask of this?" She'd met his eyes in the discussion; their recent tensions pushed temporarily aside shot a dart of glee into Loren as he basked in it, if only temporarily.

"Goldoduur left his nest, my Lord. His flying over the valley woke the children and myself. We watched his flight from the balcony and wept at the sounds of his thrumming." His wife informed him, and he balked.

His brief feeling of elation was replaced with the souring sensation of panic. _Dragons were steadfast beings at the time of nesting. The sire would leave only if his mate had perished and their wyrms had followed, or if there was a threat great enough to draw him from the refuge of their nest._

His expression had grown troubled and pensive, and Ursa waited patiently as Loren glanced away deeply in thought of this information. Verily, there had been no earlier moment for her to share this with him, so he felt no upset with her for not telling him sooner. And his wife did not realize that this information was dire, in and of itself, for him to know.

"Wife mine, we must consult the histories of the House. This occurrence stinks of ill portents." His tone was grave, and Ursa could barely hear him over the music. Though her firm declarations pertaining to the status of their marriage were not forgotten, she still touched his forearm to seek his attention to her.

"Then this occurrence was not a thing of joy, my Lord?" she asked, and Loren nodded.

"I pray that my fear is unfounded, but it is dire indeed for a Dragon sire to leave his mate, and their hatchlings unless motivated to protect them. He would sense a threat and react accordingly."

"But his humming Loren. It brought the children out of sleep to bear witness. As it did to all of us. We watched him in the moonlight as he flew."

"And in certainty, it was him?" Her husband asked, touching her hand with his own.

"Aye. As certain I am of the coming of each dawn."

He looked away, releasing his hand from hers and looking away momentarily. "I must consult the histories, my wife." He raised a hand. "Need you not come with me, I pray that you continue your celebrations and I shall return presently."

The man stood to leave, and not one to be placid, Ursa stood with him. "I will attend you, Lord. But be assured that this changes nothing between us now. I wish solely to know more of why this bodes ill, as I am shamed in not realizing its importance sooner." He looked at her sadly, and against his prior plans, he reached out with his palm and cupper her cheek.

"I know, my heart." He said softly. Her eyes widened at the forwardness of his caress, but he knew she wouldn't dare cause a scene at this touch, though he knew he was not entitled to it either. "You knew not, and there is no wrongdoing present. You are my Lady as much as my love, and I value your mind. We must seek to make sense of this change. Together." He added as a last statement. He hope its meaning was clear.

Loren withdrew his hand from his wife and offered his elbow instead. Stubbornly, his wife turned as she stood and refused it without word. She walked in silence with him through the halls to his study, and he accepted her silence sadly. The warmth of her cheek burned into his palm, and as they walked he couldn't stop himself from rubbing his fingertips over it.

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	29. Chapter 29

**Pretty4Iz: I would have responded to you in a PM, but you were not logged in! Thank you for your thoughts! No one is perfect, least of all the Lady. She's had limited dynamic relationship experience, so when things go south in such a drastic way, it's easy to fantasize about the 'what if', as it were. I hope it will all make more sense as I move forward with this.**

 **Chapter 29**

If the rhythmic gusts of air were any assessment of the mass of scales and wings that undulated through the night sky, it would be clear that the creature flying overhead was of colossal proportions. In the dark under the full glow of an orange-tinted harvest moon, the mammoth gold Dragon completed a second pass and threshed his wings once more. The force over the currents over the air caused the panes in the window to rattle once more, and the noise in the mid of the silence of sleep caused Loren to shoot to a sitting position.

There was a click of a door, and across the room, the adjoining entry was opened by Ursa, who hovered there at the door hesitantly as she looked at her Lord, and then to the large windows. The man slid from bed and the two wordlessly left the suite together to the common balcony on the floor.

Approaching the open mezzanine, they had arrived just in time as the Dragon swooped past with an elegant roll as he dodged the castle in midair. He was frighteningly close to the stone structure, and the thundering noise caused the pair to falter with a wince. In an automatic gesture, Loren's arm shot out in front of his wife to guard her as the Dragon dove and ascended into the higher airs in his rotation around their House.

Self-consciously, he dropped his arm as he remembered his wife's position on their union as of late, though he didn't note specifically that it brought her any ire. Goldoduur circled lazily overhead, his neck craning to the ground below as though he examined everything below him.

"Was this more of the same from the first night he passed over?" Loren asked of his wife.

"Aye, the exact same." Loren could scarcely take his eyes off his Dragon as the being continued its enclosed circling of his family's House. "Was there anything else that you discovered after I withdrew to my rooms, my Lord?" Loren nearly smiled a little at his wife's stubborn insistence in avoiding his name. He sighed and continued to watch the spectacle of his unsettled Dragon in the air above.

"Nothing useful yet." She nodded distractedly. The ensuing silence was neither uncomfortable, nor heavy with unspoken words as their dual attention was occupied at the sight in the sky.

"Rightly, my Lord, I am fascinated with what reasons could exist that could cause your Dragon to behave thusly." She confessed, her eyes upward. "Do you presume them to be sinister?"

Loren was a man to spend time considering his answers rather than filling space with questions and exchanges. But the fact that his estranged wife was asking him of his postulations on this tugged at him. "There haven't been conflicts in the factions of Dragons for an age, it seems. I uncovered no references to any great perils of concern, nor were any dangers spoken of in passing context." She hummed.

"How many years of records are there?" The Dragon above them let out a thunderous sound; something between a growl and a roar, but it called their attentions upward once more as the creature rocked in midair and plunged downward again with his wings folded until they expanded again to catch him as he rose once again, and circled lower. The rush of air and thundering of wings was a jolt to their previous calm and Ursa gripped the edge of the balcony nervously, her eyes shooting over to Loren.

The nights had grown ever-more crisp, and the blast of air that was carried along the Dragons body from the troposphere was almost glacial as it drafted over the couple. Ursa, clad only in her night dress, gripped her shoulders and rubbed, trying to fend the sudden blight of cold away.

Their sudden and newfound emotional separation was difficult on Loren, to say the least. But it was, too, that every time he made to touch her, he remembered that it was also a physical separation as well.

Paired together it had planted a seed of longing within the man that he didn't have any fortitude to cope with. Ursa was his wife, dammit! He felt his frustrations leak into him as his mind shifted away from the unfolding curiosity concerning his Dragon, and to the woman who stood beside him. It wasn't solely an ache for familiarity that he suffered, it was guilt, too. He had wrought this on them. He had been the seed of discourse. It plagued him day and night, and as she stood here, with him, bared and vulnerable, he prayed to the Gods that he could win her back to him.

Ursa must have felt his burdens, because she looked at him now. His dark eyes burned for her under the moonlight, and his attentions caused her to feel a warmth prickling into her cheeks. She crossed her arms around herself and turned her body out towards the night air defensively. The contact they'd made with their eyes was enough though, and Loren closed the distance as he nearly swooped in at her.

His hands were hot, such as they always were, and he placed them at either side of her cheeks and turned her head to him. The warmth was divine on her cooling cheeks, but she resisted as she focused on her resolve. She was not going to let him draw her back to him with shows of physical desire, nor appeals to the wantonness he created in her body.

"Please-" He pleaded to her, so gently, nearly a whisper. Ursa felt her intention waver and she closed her eyes, even though he had won in turning her to face him. She could feel his breath then, just above her lips and her fingers gripped her upper arms tighter, as though she could shield herself from his advance, refusing to put her hands upon him, even to push him away.

And just as suddenly, the warmth of him retreated, and she opened her eyes. His hands still cupped her tenderly, but he had fallen back away from her. His dark eyes searched her face, and drank her in as though she was the most precious thing in existence. She could feel the tingling under her palms that ached to lay them over his chest, and accept him into an embrace, but she tightened them instead.

"My Lord-" She said in a reproachful tone, but he placed a finger over her lips.

"Ursa-" He spoke her name as though it were a prayer. "You are my heart. My Own." He whispered, grasping for the words he needed now. "I cannot breathe without you." She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"You cannot draw me back with platitudes of your suffering." She said simply, and he balked at her.

"Platitudes? Is your love for me so mercurial that you cannot find forgiveness within yourself?" He challenged and she scowled. She pulled his hands away from her and threw them back at him.

"You have asked for nothing!" She spat. "You think only of your own heart, and consider nothing for how you have brought hurt upon me."

"I ask you for everything!" He nearly shouted. "I beg that you return to me. To be my wife again! I can no more live with you in this House without being able to love you, than I can live without breathing." She shook her head, and he reached to her to close the distance between them by settling his palms to her shoulders. Without thinking she flinched backward away from him, a fearful expression crossing his eyes.

The silence following was broken only by the sound of wings in the air, and the far-away low vocal noises the Dragon made as it continued its survey.

"You hurt me." She said finally, her voice trembling. "And I will never permit you to do it again." Her eyes burned, and he felt such acute sadness once more. In their clash of wills, the Dragon had continued to circle above them until another roar sounded as he tipped his wings and retreated over the mountaintop once more. It broke their attentions from each other to watch as he flew away again, to wherever his mate still waited for him.

Loren tried one last time, his endurance all but threadbare by this point. His wife was not wrong, and that was the greatest problem. He was a coward, and his insecurity had bested him when it should not have.

"I am a man. Not a God, not a Dragon, only a man. Not even a wise one, at that." He conceded, and Ursa snorted softly, the ice of her countenance broken only in her derisive agreement with him. "What I have done is….." He looked away now from her. "If I have poisoned your heart to me….. Then that is the price I have paid." It was a defeated statement. "You are rarely wrong, and this is no exception. But I need you. I will never not need you." Loren turned to leave them; pressing her as he had was fruitless and counterproductive. He had wished for too much and been able to provide too little as well.

His love for her, it seemed, was not to be enough.

His shoulders sagged more than they would normally, and he had turned to depart to their rooms now that Goldoduur had retreated back to his aerie. His wife stood there, quietly and deep in her own contemplations as he walked away. She knew she should call out to him, and she fought herself as she watched him walking away. She did love him. She knew she did; she always had. That love had not been sewn from seeds at the top of the soil; it had taken roots deep within her soul. Its gradual growth had sustained them through the years, and had been fair and even. Their warmth and adoration had not started like a hot flash, but had grown and changed as they had.

It was a truth she could not refuse, and she closed her eyes as she fought through the resistance pride. She wanted to succumb to his testimony, to wrap her arms around him and feel his familiarity again. Neither her heart nor her body were hewn of stone.

She looked out to the nighttime that surrounded the castle and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing away the chill as best as she could. She curled her bare toes beneath her, though they were icy and exposed. She closed her eyes once more and made her decision soundly.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Loren lay at the pillow, his body supine and not fully covered by the duvet. His breaths were long and measured, and his chest trembled as he breathed out each time. With each beat of his heart, it felt as though it was tearing in two within his chest. He was drowning in his own hopelessness.

Beside him, the bed sagged just slightly and his eyes shot open once more at the surprise. Next to him, wreathed in the moonlight that crept in through the breaks in the curtains, his wife had sat next to him. He was frozen in place as she stared at him; her form barely visible in the dark there with him. She lifted her hand to his cheek and she leaned down to him, touching her forehead to his.

Without even knowing he had, he let out a sigh that was wracked with the first of his tears. They began pouring from him at the corners of his eyes and down towards his ears. His breaths were ragged and wrenching, and she touched his other cheek as well, and made a gentle shushing noise. In the night there, he heard her murmur softly. "My heart is not poisoned to you."

His stillness was broken as he wrapped her body against him, almost completely on top of himself, and he crushed her into him. His crying shook his whole body, and her with him. Her hands still upon his face, cupped him firmly as she allowed him to embrace her. The cover of night acting as a veil of protection for them both, keeping them cocooned away from their pain and suffering.

His lips found the top of her head, and he gently kissed her again and again until he found that he was unwilling to allow so much as mere space to be between them anymore. He rolled her across his body and into the middle of the bed, nestling here there among their pillows. He cradled her there in his shoulder, his strong arms held her with intensity, afraid that if he loosed them she would leave.

"My heart." He managed to whisper between his sobs. "I am so sorry. I am a fool." She closed her eyes and Ursa gently lay her arms around his shoulders as she felt her own tears gathering at her eyes. He peppered kisses repeatedly in her hair, his face buried in her tresses. She could still hear the murmurings of love and devotion in his deep timbre.

Loren crumbled there in the warmth they were creating, and Ursa held him as he did. These last months without her had come so unexpectedly, and at a cost that had been unpredictable as well. The turmoil they had endured, and the changes to their lives and the dynamic within the House had taken tolls on all of them. Their idyllic life together had been tipped upon its side, indelicately.

But here, in the safety of the dark, her estranged husband held her and spoke to her of his love for her. He spoke of his regrets and his insecurities, pouring himself open to her and holding nothing back. She listened silently, and stroked his arms as he whispered his transgression under influence of magic at the inn, and his notice of the Master Black's continually lingering gazes at her. How they drove him to rage. He spoke to the events and consequences at the convocation, and how the House of Weasley would not be so easily mollified in the decrees drawn up subsequently.

As he bared everything to her, she felt the barriers between them strip down more and more to be replaced only by a rawness that clung to her visceral components. As he was revealed more to her, her own secrets pressed more intensely inside her, willing her to let them free.

It was only once he had finished, and the silence again lingered between them that she touched his brow delicately and moved to face him. They could not see each other with exactitude, but they were so close that their breaths mingled. Her voice was so soft it could barely be heard. "Since the day I was pushed from my parents' House, I have never spoken a word aloud to this." She started. "From the time that I was a little girl, my father indulged me in education. It was more than I was entitled as a girl, and more certainly than what my sisters ever desired." Loren was still, clinging to her words and careful not to make any noise so as to require her to repeat them. Her tone was uncertain and delicate. "And I shared my lessons with the son of my mother's ladies maid, and our family coachmen…."

Her speech was even, if subdued, and Loren listened long into the night until she had finished her tale. The two of them had drifted away in the last vestiges of night time while still wrapped up together. And entangled together still, the bedclothes almost precisely where they had started when first they settled, and the light of the new dawn broken through the breaks in the curtains the following morning.

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The ascension of the sun the next morning had found more than one of the residents in the House of Gresham a bit worse for wear. The festivities of the night previous left heads muzzy and mouths scented of stale meads and ales. The attendants to the informal table that morning were more sluggish than a normal morning, and even the pair of Masters lacked their typical bounding steps as they also joined.

Tyt'o had sunk himself gingerly into a chair and plucked a mug of steaming tonic meant to rejuvenate and energize the imbiber. It was willow bark and ginger root; made to relieve any pounding behind the eyes as well as provide a bit of a zing to get one moving.

He groaned slightly, and Hermione plopped down unceremoniously into the chair beside him. He glanced at her from the side, too tired to maintain any of the pretenses of his ire and annoyance that he'd employed to keep her at arm's length. She sighed and looked longingly at what he was drinking. Her expression matched his own; tired with a bit of a headache, from the looks of her face.

Her brother rolled his eyes and handed her the cup and she accepted it with a slight smile and leaned into his shoulder. He shrugged her off, though without much enthusiasm. "This doesn't change my displeasure of you." He grumbled and she waved him away.

"Yes, yes." She said in dismissive agreement. "You remain mightily oppressed with your conniptions. I am aware." She slurped loudly and looked at him again.

"Have you no manners?" He asked sourly and she shook her head and gave him a shark-like grin.

"Nay. Nothing of the sort. Just like a barbarian, tearing at carcasses with my teeth and putting my elbows on tables-" She demonstrated by plunking her elbows on the wooden surface, defiantly. The brew she'd begged off him sloshed in the cup.

"Young Lady, you will kindly remove the joint of your arms from the table, this instant." Their mother interjected in an authorative tone. The siblings jumped to attention, and her daughter did indeed remove the offending body parts from the table as directed.

Ursa stood before the two accompanied by their father who waited for her as she gave the two a speculative look. She examined them in turn and the two withered slightly under her gaze until she took her seat. Tyt'o watched as his father's palm cupped her elbow and he pulled her seat for her. More importantly, she let him. Tyt'o glanced at his sister, but she didn't notice. She merely gulped again loudly, followed by a notable wince as she cleared her throat and continued her drinking silently. Ursa raised her eyebrow back at her daughter.

Loren took his own seat and chuckled in a low tone. "Managing the flock, as always." He praised of her, and she gave a small smiled as she arranged her napkin at her lap. He caught her hand before she could reach it to the table, and brought it to him so he could brush her palm with his lips. She struggled to meet his eyes as he did, for he conveyed a meaning without speaking. Despite that they had woken together, entangled and warm in the morning, they had not made any continuation in their conversation from the night previous.

The crew gathering at the table were all mostly silent and tired. Dancing as well as the flow of drink had gone long into the night, and that the Gresham youths were considered of age, it was not inappropriate that the two had enjoyed several rounds of mead and ale as well. Though, most belatedly, they were individually discovering that a heavy mixing of the types of drink came at a high cost the next morning.

It was Hermione that broke the reverie around the table first.

"Did mother tell you that Goldoduur came down from the mountains?"

Her inquiry was entirely innocent, but it caused several utensils to drop to the table when she asked it. Loren cleared his throat and glanced around the table before answering. "Aye." He said hesitantly, not wishing to call any attention to the subject, though it was being aired as certainly if it were laundry in the sunshine. "It has been discussed." His tone was clipped, hoping that it would satisfy her question. He ought to have known better.

"He came down again last night, too." She mentioned, her statement hovering and hoping her father would fill in the rest.

"Aye." He agreed and she waited expectantly. The father and daughter staring at each other until she furrowed her brows. The two spoke in time, interrupting the other.

"For what purpose did-"

"Perchance might I steal you and your brother-"

She smiled at her father, but he bullied onward. "I missed you two fiercely while I was away, mayhap you would join me a moment to discuss your achievements in these months?" Hermione frowned. He dodged her.

"Always, father, but what of the Drag-" Tyt'o's foot came down on top of hers and she hissed, looking under the table, as well as at him. His eyes caught hers with an unspoken annoyance, practically begging her to quit speaking. She looked at her father, who had remained stony, and then at her mother who was frozen in place. She sat back and huffed.

Theo and Draco, also at the table, looked at each other before returning to their own affairs of consumption and the table remained largely silent for the remainder of their meal.

Once finished, Ursa excused herself and had exited the hall doors when she heard quick steps behind her. She turned to see that Loren had caught up to her. He surged forward only slightly and claimed his wife's hand in his own, holding her back. His dark eyes were intense, and how he lowered his jaw to look at her made him appear desirous. He brought her knuckles to his lips, grazing them lightly, opening his mouth so she could feet his breath on her as he searched her face. "It changes nothing." He said into her hand, and she tilted her head in curiosity. "When you were young, with that boy." He reminded her, grazing his tongue delicately across her flesh and her eyes widened a little. "It does not change how I love you, my heart." He whispered at last, and took his other hand to cup her where her cheek joined her neck.

Waking in Loren's arms had flooded her with her familiar concerns over whether or not reneging on her proclamation was wise, and she'd spent so long deliberating in her mind over it she'd realized she'd risen and excused herself back to her rooms without a word. Though, were she to have spoken, what would she have said to him?

Her confession had followed his own, and that had proceeded their slumber. There had been no time for anything more. She'd held nothing back from him; good nor bad, and he had listened to her without interjection or opinion. He picked up easily on her silent turmoil, for he pulled her close to him, leaning over her with his lips so close to hers she could feel the heat radiating from him. "To whom does your heart belong, now?" He asked. It was simple, and direct.

Her words tumbled from her without her having to think about them, and they were true. "You Loren. It is you that I love." She breathed, and his thumb slid across her cheek.

"Would you choose differently?" It was a cautious whisper and a vulnerability. His eyes had softened with his question, and she felt her heart sink in seeing how he was affected, and how much he was still bearing to her.

Were she to have taken a different path, it would have rendered everything in this life she loved invalid. The years she'd spent in the existence she led, she had come to love. It had proven deep and abiding for her. Her children would not have been hers, this reality would have belonged to someone else. What would her other life have brought her? It was easy enough to paint a picture of carefree romance, but another entirely to create the foundations of a life from. She shook her head gently and gave her answer with as much honesty as she possessed. "I would keep this life."

Loren smiled slowly but widely, and he leaned in to her mouth and claimed it with his. He no longer hesitated with expressing himself through that kiss; it was filled with passionate foreshadowing. His tongue swirled hers expertly as he opened her to him. His free hand cupped her at her ribs below the breast and pulled her to his chest as he explored her, pausing to nip at her lips, and then returning to his worship of her mouth.

It had been so long since they had kissed, that when he seized her body to his she gasped and moaned as she felt exhilaration surge through her body. Her noises encouraged him, and spurned him onward and as he pressed forward physically, her body bowed backward to accommodate him.

Their bubble was popped when the quiet in the common hallway was interrupted by the noise of a throat clearing, and the pair pulled away from each other as bashful smiles appeared on each of them. Loren's hands did not leave his wife's body, though he did turn his head slowly to address the noise that had interrupted them.

Standing frozen in the doorway were their children and their young wards, all with expressions of varying levels of shock. Hermione was the first to speak, and her voice was clear and surprisingly impassive.

"Are we to meet with you in your study then father?" Loren chuckled and looked back to his wife before he replied.

"Aye. Join me there presently." He touched his wife's cheek and kissed her hand one final time. He leaned in close to her ear so only she should hear. Whatever it was he whispered caused her to smile as she gave him a measured look and laughed lightly.

Turning from his wife, Loren nodded to the four awaiting to leave the hall, but struck by their nervousness at having interrupted. She cleared her throat lightly. "Today is the last day you are released. Use it as you see fitting." There were a few uncomfortable acknowledgements hidden in the doorway ad Ursa took her leave shortly following.

Tyt'o groaned after a minute, wiping his hand down his face at the horror their group had stumbled upon. Hermione scoffed and shoved him into the door playfully. "How you remain utterly unflappable, is beyond me." He groaned.

"I pray to the Gods you already know the logistic of how a man puts a baby in-" He cried out, and clamped his hand over his sisters mouth. Draco and Theo both cringed at her brassy choice of words.

"No. Absolutely not." She shirked him off.

"What? There are two of us, you lummox. They have to like each other enough to-" He tried to lid her flapping jaw once more, and the she shooed his arms away by batting at him.

Theo put his hands over his eyes and cringed, and Draco turned himself completely the other direction to take a deep breath to keep himself from breaking down utterly into laughter, but it was unsuccessful.

"Prig."

"Cease!"

"Cynic!"

"Desist, lest I throw you into a trough."

"Prude."

"Gods, strike me down as I stand here." Tyt'o bemoaned, and Draco belted out a loud guffaw.

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The warmth of the sun had long since slipped to give way to the chilling air that accompanied the night. The stars above glittered in the inky blackness that was the sky over the castle of House Gresham. The stones beneath his feet had held little warmth as the seasons had now made their shift towards winter in earnest. It summoned a memory of his night last when he stood here, watching the gold Dragon above him as it continued in the bizarre break in behavior of leaving its nest.

This time when those same forceful and powerful gusts of wind had enveloped him once again, it nearly toppled him from his feet with the momentum as it approached so closely. The whooshing sound of the massive wings filled his ears as the great clawed feet came to rest atop the roof nearest the plateau on which he stood, and the sound of a rumbling growl filled his ears. Its massive body accompanying the creature reflected the moonlight over its many armored scales, and the long tail dropped down over the stone tower towards the ground below.

For the first time in nearly a full turn of the seasons, the shining scales that armored his face across the slits of his nose and moved back into the curve of the three horns they formed on each side of his face were a warming and familiar sight. It was the narrowing of the gold eyes into glowing slits, and the deep and warning rumble that graced his mounts countenance that gave Loren unease.

The plated head leaned in low as the claws gripped tighter seeking purchase along the clay shingles, crushing many, and sending others sliding down and off the castle top. The deadly creature leaned in until it was well-within Loren's personal space and with an unexpected panic, the Lord stepped back, suddenly unnerved at the now-wild creature's true intentions.

The low rumble of his voice maintained the melodic tone that Loren had always know, but it was hardened in a way he had never heard before. The tones were harsh, wilder even. The resonance of speech forming from deep within the chest of the being. Even at a whisper, the sheer volume was entirely mighty.

 _ **A krasaar has come.**_ His yellow eyes were hard and calculating and his mouth was so close Loren could smell the tang of magic that emanated from the Dragon. He found his heart rate pick up slightly and his throat had gone dry. This was not the same creature who had bid them love and friendship that had left to tend his mate and nest. The creature's wildness was astonishingly terrifying, even for a man who had spent his entire life in the company of Dragons. Loren cleared his throat nervously. His mouth had dried completely and he stammered to speak. _**I sense but I cannot see.**_ He hissed.

Loren licked his lips as gaze fell upon him, examining and scrutinizing with a degree of hunger Loren was unnerved by as the great eye hovered ever-nearer to him, waiting for his response.

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 **A/N:**

 **Krasaar means "sickness".**

 **If you would like a visual on what Goldoduur looks like, check out my Pinterest. I am IndigoBirds, and the board is (creatively) Guild of Dragons.**

 **There's a lot of flim flam in there that's inspiration, but a lot of it is used for me to better visualize what each dragon looks like. Makes them easier to describe.**


	30. Chapter 30

**Thank you ALL for your reviews, follows and favorites! I am seriously SO happy that there people who enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it.**

 **Updates should be on time with the exception of the week of Christmas. Frankly, I might be so rotund with cookies and food that I will be unable to type. Ha ha. Just kidding. But seriously I might miss that week, and I apologize in advance for it.**

 **On with the next installment!**

 **Chapter 30**

Draco Malfoy coughed as the dust flitted along his face as he lay, back-down, in the dirt. He coughed and squinted, but made no attempt to set up. Plodding closer to where he lay, the sound of two velveteen lips approached as they bopped a few times, exploring his face nearer his ear. The slime of the horse's mouth got his attention before anything else, and he covered the muzzle with his cupped hand as he grumbled and pushed the overly-curios animal away. Unconcerned with Draco's lack of interest in being explored, the horse tried a second time, nicking softly at him while he lay there, prodding at him with its pester and curiosity.

"Off me, already!" Draco grumbled, and from higher above his supine position Theo and Tyt'o both laughed.

"Amateur move, mate." Theo chided, and Tyt'o whistled lowly.

"You had her!" Tyt'o exclaimed, and riding up to the trio, Hermione cried with an indignant tone.

"That is a lie." She said haughtily, and reigned in her horse. "Distinctly, I had him. I'm not the one on the ground about to be deflowered by a horse's muzzle!"

"Oh, gods!" Theo exclaimed in disgust at her vulgar implication. Tyt'o grimaced and made a disgusted, wordless noise. "Are you entirely certain that that slip of a girl astride _that_ horse is in any way a product of this House?" The Nott heir queried. Tyt'o shook his head from side to side, slowly.

"If I hadn't all but watched her coming into this world, I would agree with you in gusto." He grumbled, and Theo laughed as the two wheeled their mounts back to the starting lines where Master Black waited patiently. Hermione looked back at Draco, and sighed. She dialed back the sonority of her voice that only Draco and their horses might be able to listen.

"You ought not to continue letting me win, Draco." She murmured as he sat up, giving off a light groan as his horse crowded him continually. He dusted the front of his breeches and gave the horse a remaining gentle push away that he could gather himself to his feet. He found himself fighting a smile as he gathered his reigns to mount the horse once more, facing away from her.

"Who among us states that I'm _letting_ you win?" He asked playfully over his shoulder and she tisked at him.

"You could have unseated me easily just now, your spell was stronger, and yet you deflected it over my shoulder." As he jumped into an arc and seated himself back amid his saddle, Draco looked at her. She showed more concern than she ought, he realized. And add in just a little insecurity as well. He smirked.

"Am I to be faulted for my unwillingness to bring harm to my intended?" She grimaced at his choice of words, and shushed him emphatically.

"Speak nothing of that word our here in the open!" She said urgently and looked over her shoulder to the trio which milled around, waiting for them to walk their horses back down the row to their starting points once again.

"Why ever not? Is that not what you are to me? My intentions have not changed: Have you doubts or after thoughts about accepting an offer?" He challenged and she frowned.

"You know I have no such thoughts." She said, trying to be gentle. She saw there to be insecurity there about him in his posture, and in his words. "I am steadfast in my acceptance of your promise. I only desire that you not hold yourself back in the tutelage we receive. Not only are you committing a disservice to yourself, but we will cast suspicion on ourselves if this continues." She smiled at him and turned her horse to walk beside his. He smiled at her again.

"Good, then I am assured you have not changed your mind." She laughed; the sound was merry and filled with mirth. Her lips were dusky and pink, and Draco felt himself overcome with the lingering want to feel them once again, as they used to in secret.

"That entire declamation, and you care only that you remain in my favor!" He chuckled with her, wishing that he could collect her hand in his own and lay a kiss to her palm. To feel the warmth of some part of her once again, to hear how his light touches could make her gasp, or emit soft noises of approval, and eagerness. He shifted in his saddle. _Now was NOT the time to be reminiscing or longing,_ he realized. He cleared his throat.

"Nothing else is as important." He murmured to her, and her eyes grew soft as she looked at him a moment.

"You have such unexpected depth to your kind heart, I find." She whispered, and looked forward so as to seem unaffected by anything further. "But you must not squander these chances we are given to improve and refine our abilities. The hatching approaches, and if you are not to be a champion-" She trailed off and shifted uncomfortably at the implication she made. She looked back to him, praying that she conveyed her seriousness. "That must not come to pass."

The pair closed in the last ten feet to the group and Master Black smiled at his wayward pupils. He looked at Hermione expectantly. "Fare thee well?" He inquired and she nodded, smiling.

"Aye, Draco has no ill feeling about being unseated by a slip of a girl." Sirius chuckled.

"Hardly a slip you are, child." He said approvingly. "But young Lord Malfoy must do better next round." He added. "Your spell did not find purchase, young Lord. Remind me again, what was my lesson pertaining to aim and focus?" he challenged Draco. The young man swallowed before answering, carefully watching the Masters expression to determine if he was wise to the fact that Draco had missed on purpose.

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She waved her hand quickly over the parchment as she focused on modifying the words once again. _More innocuous than before._ She concluded silently, and made a few more adjustments to her letter. Her penmanship was precise and refined; just as a lady's should be. In truth, she could have penned this letter magically, and it would have produced the same style of word, but she did still enjoy some little tasks without employ of magic.

Satisfied at the concealed message, she bound the letter in a spell, and sealed it with a flourish of melted wax with her familial seal. Not her the seal of her husband's House; but her own true-born House. She looked at the seal, contemplatively, with its trio of ravens. A House of such greatness, power, prestige…. Now subjected to nothing more than ruin and humiliation.

Her beautiful face twisted in a grimace as she reminisced over her childhood, the family of her House. So many bright Lords and Ladies had hailed from her line; why now was it that the House and lands could remain so ruined, and disgraced? She traced the three birds affectionately, feeling bolstered in her remembrances. _The line could still be re-forged._ She reminded herself. _There were still possibilities left, yet._

The first time she had asked her husband about restorations to her home lands, and to the Castle of Black, her husband had laughed. _The bastard had the nerve to laugh at her._ Her face bloomed with heat, the flashback of the utter mockery in his tone, as his silvery laugh filled the air. Their then-little son had begun wailing for his wet nurse, and she had distractedly handed the babe off while she had inquired further as to what the man felt was so amusing about her wish to restore the Castle, and petition to have the Heir reinstated. Her insistence proved unwise, however, as Lucius had caressed the side of her cheek in an uncustomary show of affection before he'd gripped her hard around the mouth and dragged her into his lap.

His voice was so low she would have struggled to hear it if she weren't right next to his mouth. He sneered at her wail of shock and terror. Of the pain he caused her, for bruises were certain to form where he pinned her with his strong hand. _Your House,_ he'd explained. _Is nothing more than a derelict shanty. The only things left of value have already been_ _ **claimed**_ _._ He'd given her one more look over as her eyes squeezed shut, and her tears started to flow, and he shoved her from him violently. In her fall to catch herself, her dress had smudges of dirt, her cheeks had tracks of tears.

That wasn't the first time in her married life that Narcissa Black, the now-Lady Malfoy, had felt fear. It certainly wasn't the last, either.

Though, even she had to admit that over the years, Lucius's volatility had stayed….. Somewhat. She had grown more attuned to his tempers, and how to navigate herself around them. If she were lucky, she would only have to suffer the occasional warming of his bed, when he felt as though she needed to be reminded of her proper place. _Beneath him._

Normally it was a slew of domestic girls and staff ladies that maintained his attentions. Narcissa didn't pay his diverted attentions any mind; she reveled in the freedom it granted her, and the lessening of the burden to entertain his libidinous behavior so frequently. Of which, it seemed, there was no end. She glanced at another piece of paper, not far from the one she'd been focusing herself on and sighed in annoyance.

 _Another domestic carted off after a meeting with the apothecary serving their House to rid herself of her Lord's unwanted bastard._ She shook her head; she should be grateful that this year it had been only two of them. The year of their son's birth she had had to content with _six_ weeping maidens, desperate in their grief and wailing their laments over their fallen virtues. _Such, though, was the curse of this gods-be-damned-House._ She reminded herself, and she scratched out the name of the most recent maid, sent away to complete the abortion of her Lord's abominable seedling inside her and unlikely to return back to the service of their employ. The Lady sighed; they were beginning to run out of women around this House, and she had already penned several letters to the lesser vassal Houses in bequest that any families within the fiefdom seeking domestic work should come to the Castle Malfoy to interview.

Her blink lasted longer than it should have, and she scribbled a few nonsense words out on her paper before letting go of her quill and allowing her magic to take over the job for her. Leaning back, she poured a goblet of wine and sipped as the item imbued with sheer will exerted through her magic continued to doodle out her thoughts aimlessly. _One of these days a bastard was going to show up on the front door demanding to be recognized,_ she groaned internally. _And with any hope he will be younger than Draco, and unable to contest the right as heir._ Narcissa pondered sourly at her incessant task of managing her son's birthright. The only reason she bothered at all was to make the torturous years she had spent beneath this roof count for something.

Within a few minutes, she perked up again, a thought having occurred to her during her contemplation. Herbs! It had hit her so precipitously, she had nearly dropped her drinking vessel. The Lady summoned new papers to her and took direct control of her writing implement as she wrote a summons for the House apothecary.

 _If her husband would not take greater care with the poor wretches he foisted his body upon, then at least she would see to it his seed was empty and posed no threat to the future of her own flesh and blood._ Narcissa smiled wickedly, as she completed her summons, and sealed the letter with the crest of her mother House; the Noble and Ancient House of Black.

 _The House of Black would not be cowed forever,_ she promised herself internally as she summoned her night prowler with her affectionate cooing and kissing noises. Her owl flitting to her gladly to attend the Lady's bidding.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It wasn't until sometime later in that week that Theo was able to get Draco away from the group; between the arrival of Samhain, and the return to the rigors of training, testing, and riding, the young pupils were all but dead on their feet by the end of the day. They ate their food with ravenous appetites and often accepted draughts concocted by the apothecaries of the House to aid their muscles in resting, and calming their minds to ensure restful sleep, only so they could repeat the same efforts day in and day out.

The young men shared guest rooms in the same wing, and while at their first arrival to the House of Gresham, they had not made many overtures of friendship, circumstances and feelings had shifted greatly in the months they had resided in the House. It had even become an occurrence that they lingered in the Great Hall with Tyt'o and Hermione to socialize for some time before everyone concluded themselves to the privacies behind their doors. With the return and gradually returning health of Loren, it was often then too that he lingered behind, and was accompanied by Ursa during these times.

Thought, upon his initial return, Theo had picked up immediately that the reunion between Lord and Lady had not been much looked-forward to. In fact, it had seemed as though the Lady had been significantly cold to her Lord. One would not see that now, as even presently she allowed him to continue to hold her hand in his as he absentmindedly caressed her soft fingers with his own calloused hands. He showed a great deal of tenderness, and in a bit of an unusual display for a Lord especially in what was considered a public setting. From the side-long smiles she paid him, and often, it seemed that neither were concerned in that regards.

Without a shadow of any doubt; the months that had been spent with the Gresham's had proven to be both the most grueling because of their training, but additionally the most rewarding. Upon his arrival, Theo had presumed that he would find the teachings and practicum easy and frivolous, but had been shocked that the reality was entirely different. Despite his father's vast libraries and self-proclaimed prowess, Theodore Nott had discovered that his own skill level had been woefully underwhelming.

Much of that, to this point, had now changed. Each of the participants spent their days –and all of that day- both honing their focuses and discovering to what ends they could bend their will and therefore the magic they wielded. When their minds needed rest, they sharpened their riding prowess with vigorous and challenging rides upon horseback. Not having grown up with any stock animal present in his father's lands, Theo had been lamentingly unprepared for how difficult it was to merely stay on the back of a horse moving at a simple trot.

One would imagine that remaining seated and stable astride an animal as basic as a horse would be menial, and unchallenging. The aches that Theo had experienced within the deep tissues of his inner thighs, buttocks and lower back for the first five weeks of riding had spoken a wholly other story. It was when his own muscles had acclimated and begun to grow stronger that he had fully begun to appreciate how much work the two Gresham siblings put into their mastery of riding, for he and Draco could now boast that –while not certainly masters as Tyt'o and Hermione would be considered- that the pair of them were accomplished and confident now in their own rites. So much so that they had moved into riding some of the more high-spirited equine species the Gresham's bred.

This day, much the same as many previous, had left both Theo and Draco sore but quite happy. Their months in this environment had proven vastly more pleasurable than they had imagined they could be. As the pair clambered the stairs together towards their own rooms, Theo noted that again they had reached a new plateau in their physical accomplishments as neither one of them were using the rail as a crutch to take the weight from their aching legs.

When finally far enough toward their destinations, Theo signaled Draco with a jerk of his head and the young blond quirked his eyebrow upward. "Aye?" He said indifferently. Theo glanced around a moment, satisfied that they could see no one within ear shot, and he motioned to the alcove past the head of the stairs which both separated their rooms, but opened through doors into a balcony where just two people could fit.

Situating themselves there, Theo leaned back on the stone railing and sized up his companion, he folded his arms across his chest. Draco's gray eyes betrayed no curiosity under the scrutiny as he waited Theo out, and they stood there for a few minutes in silence before Theo spoke finally.

"Have you received many letters from your father since you've been here?" He asked, dallying around his topic as much as he could before he made his move.

"Aye, just a few. And you?" He asked back. Theo shrugged.

"Only the one for my one." Theo played nonchalance. "The Lord of Nott was unsurprisingly brief in his letters, so I was curious as to what heed you've bidden to Lord Malfoy's instruction." He gave him a conspiratorial nod of his head, and noted that Draco's weight shifted from one foot to another, and he licked his lips. _AH HA,_ he thought to himself. _He's uncomfortable talking about the directives we were given._ So Theo pressed on, glad his companion had given away that subtle tell.

"Are we truly in agreement that we will be taking the wyrms with us to your father as soon as we can apparate them out?" Theo's inquiry was no longer casual, but earnest. Both of the young men had all but ceased their growth in the vertical capacity, and though while both tall had also shared a leaner frame before they became guests and trainees with the Gresham House. Now, however, the daily training and strict physical involvement had allowed the two to fill out into more masculine appearances.

Theo, the one with propensity for more thickness to his being, could feel the newly developed hardness of his upper arms under his own hands as he physically dominated the space they occupied, pressing Draco in a more physical capacity as he traveled down this line of questioning. _He needed to know if what he'd guessed was developing between his companion and the young Lady Gresham, or not. For this greatly changed their modus operandi._

The Nott heir had long made his own conclusion about returning to his father, with a baby Dragon in tow, to be shaped and used as an eventual weapon against the Houses of the Guild. And it was time he figured out if Draco had come to similar culminations as well.

The side of Draco's mouth pinched as Theo closed in his space, his blue eyes hardened as he waited for Draco's answer. The two had not openly discussed their plans together since their arrival to the castle, nor had either been fool enough to write to their fathers to reveal any more than their own well-being and confirm that they continued unfettered in study and training.

His eyes met Theo's and the two measured the other up; had Theo this entire time been clinging to the instructions handed down to him through his father, in the ultimate service to the Houses United? His line of questioning was direct, certainly, but was it genuine? The young Malfoy decided to see how far it they had both strayed from their charge while in this House.

"I have need to alter our previous errand." Draco offered.

"In what capacity shall it then diverge?" Theo watched as Draco licked his lips just briefly. _He was nervous._ Theo narrowed his eyes just slightly as he waited.

"Have you imagined what repercussions will commence when we abscond this House, two baby Dragons in tow? To places where the folk know nothing of Dragon care, or lore?" Theo considered the question; it was a reasonable concern; the pair of them still knew so little of what they were going to be faced with. The idea, at the start, had been so largely abstract that neither had ever considered what kinds of real challenges would face them. Now, however, as the mood of the Castle shifted and their lessons increased in difficulty with every day, it became more apparent that there was a level of responsibility that they would be shouldering that they knew not intrinsically. They would need much more help than they could ever hope to get from their own families.

"Might have crossed my mind." Theo said nonchalantly, and Draco tisked at him.

"These are living, breathing, thinking things, my friend." Draco said solemnly. "Speak to me of allegiance to this plan when we are holding a warm wyrmling beside us, nestled in hay in the nighttime in the nursery." The young Malfoy looked out into the evening and to the valley the castle was built in. The presence of the mountains acted as a cocoon of safety and protection for the House, and gave one a sense of enclosure being there. Draco sighed. "If we take them with us, what of the sires?" He asked. "Certainly the idea that the parents will not rest until they are found, and our Houses are obliterated in fire and death does not strike you heart with even the slightest trepidation?" The blond hoped that the words he chose were reasonable enough to show to Theo that this plan that had been hatched, had been cracked from the very beginning. Now that they resided here, trained here, lived here, Draco had no intentions of following through with this directive. Not now, and not ever. Becoming a Dragon rider notwithstanding, it was now his ardent interest to ensure that he could find a way to court and offer for the Young Gresham Lady, with whom great affection had blossomed for.

But that was not the reason Draco wanted to use to win Theo over. For all Draco knew, Theo had no inkling that his aristocratic compatriot took any note of the vibrant brunette, and he wished it to remain that way.

"It is a great danger yes." Theo agreed, and Draco pressed on seeing that headway had been made.

"We know nothing of Dragon care," He reminded, and Theo nodded his agreement. "If something were to go wrong, we would have no resource at our request to come to our aid. Should the youngling ail, or become stunted; what then?" He shrugged his shoulders in a show of dramatic concern.

Theo smirked, seeing his friend dance around the possibilities he presented. "Oh, greatly there would be challenges and pitfalls, of which we would be woefully unprepared." He said simply, and turned his head a little to the side. "Are you certain that this change in your posture doesn't involve any young Lady of this House?" He challenged, poking at Draco with his query.

Draco was uncertain if answering truthfully was the best path; he felt insecure in simply asking his friend straight-out about whether he felt the same way as Draco, in that he no longer wished to move forward with their plans. Theo had revealed little, but asked much.

The blond shook his head. "Verily not." He said simply, and Theo smirked at Draco's lie. The Malfoy tried to wear a nonchalance about him, but his eyes darted back to Theo and away when he spoke, and Theo knew it was a lie.

"Excellent. As I hear tell, you would have a contract for her hand should the Dragon riding training prove unfulfilled, so I have decided to write my father to arrange an offer for her." Draco's light eyebrows shot up over his forehead to their full height. He suddenly felt an itching in the knuckles of his hand that silently chanted at him to connect his fist with Theo's face until it was nothing more than a mess of blood and broken bone. He tamped that down and cleared his throat.

"I did not realize you were interested in her." He commented as though it were off-hand, and he looked away to try to build the façade that he was unaffected. _There was no way Draco was going to let Theo make an offer for Hermione,_ he decided. The notion rolled around in his mind continuously as he felt his face get warm.

"Oh aye," Theo teased. "To return to my father with a pair of Dragons and a wife?" He let a leering quality enter his tone so as to bate his friend further. "She'd make the perfect little mother for my heirs, don't you agree?" Draco gritted his teeth and half-nodded his agreement. "A few years laying on her back warming a bed, and growing babies ought to suit her well for a life." Draco's gray eyes snapped back to Theo, and suddenly the young man had his friend by the shoulder and the throat. Their faces within inches of each other.

Prepared for the outburst, and honestly just surprised Draco had been able to school it for as long as he did, Theo gathered his magic and held his friend at bay before the blond could clamp down on his windpipe fully in his rage. The darker haired young Lord tisked back at Draco, now. "Seems that notion doesn't suit too well for you, does it, friend?" He teased, and Draco's expression of rage only darkened. "Oh, calm your fury, you sarding fool. I'm not interested in your Lady love." He made a brushing motion with his hand, and released the magic holding Draco just a hairs breath away from assaulting him.

Draco relaxed and scrutinized Theo anew, one of his eyebrows raised in silent question. "A ruse to see how I'd react." He said, mostly to himself, but Theo nodded all the same.

"Aye. And you crumbled easily. I imagine the notion of Hermione being taken by another Lord is unacceptable for you?" Draco nodded, his true motives bared now and he had nothing to hide behind. "Then the Dragons are secondary for you?"

"That's complicated." He conceded, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I plan to offer for Hermione, the Dragons are…. Also of import."

"Then the play has changed." Theo said, dropping his arms to lean back against the rail again, securing himself by his palms. He looked up to the sky, and sighed. "So many variables." He commented, offhandedly. "I am similarly disposed to discontinue this scheme." He confessed, and Draco nodded thoughtfully.

"I thought as much. The longer we are away, the less there seems to go back to." He mentioned, and leaned now over the railing himself and searched the sky and ground down below lazily. "It seemed simpler when the Gresham's and the Guild were the adversary. We've been fed tales of their faults and failures for the whole of our lives. How could we imagine they would be so welcoming and kind to us, despite the circumstances?" He gestured at the land they resided in. "And what of the Lands Lord Gresham governs? I was to understand they wallowed in pig shit as simpletons and farmers! This be nothing of that ilk."

Theo nodded in agreement. "Nothing, it seems, was as it was taught to us." The young Nott joined Draco in leaning over the rail, emulating his posture as the two of them observed the goings-on below from their height. "These are not mere farmers with dirt smudges, tottering around in animal filth. This is a right proper Castle. The Lord is generally a good man, his wife a warm and loving woman. Tyt'o and Hermione have proven themselves in friendship and as allies-" Draco nodded absentmindedly to all of Theo's assessments.

"What then is the point of all this subterfuge?" Draco gestured out into the evening in futility. "Certainly, possessing Dragons places power at the seat of The Houses United, but to what end? What conflict occurs that such a feat is even necessary?" He asked further. Theo shook his head.

"I know not. Father has never been a…. forthcoming man. And in this, I am blind to understand what ends he hopes to accomplish. The Houses of the Guild have been painted for me as they have for you; our enemies in all things. To gain power is one thing, but it seems the conflict between these factions are based on farcical and fairy tale. Though I know not who the story teller has been."

Draco straightened up and looked to Theo. "Then we are agreed?" Theo nodded, and reached his hand to Draco and the pair clasp together at the wrists with a shake of hands.

"Aye. We are move forward with the tide. No turning back." As the pair smiled at their conclusion, a sudden thundering of wings over the air ripped through the sky overhead, interrupting their concluded conclave.

The interruption caused the pair to reach by flinching as they crouched when the massive body dipped down from the clouds above, beginning a large circle within the valley. The remainder of the light in the sky reflected in glittering patterns across the scales covering the gold body of the large male Dragon, and as the two straightened back up from their startled positions, they watched as the wings caught air, pumping to maintain height, and surveying the castle he flew over.

A trumped that was more a roar thundered through the air, filled with a savage timber and vibrated through the pairs heads and struck their ears with such intensity that it actually hurt. The pair winced and covered their ears to protect them, as the Dragon made another turn. The wind over his body whipped past, sending fierce gusts across the castle tops. The banners slacked and then tightened back up again under the assault, and the creature beat his wings slowly, extending them fully as he hovered over the opposite wing of the castle.

The Dragons great horns were long and regal, sweeping in a trio from the scaled face that Theo and Draco were now seeing for the first time. His body was positively massive, and beneath the living armor that covered him, muscles rippled as the creature hovered and lowered itself to perch, paying its focus to a balcony much like the one they stood upon now.

There was a lone figure standing there that they could see with a bit of clarity. The Dragon had stilled and folded his wings downward, laying them along his long back. He brought his massive head down, and a rhythmic and thrumming noise sounded emanated from him that could be felt even from where they stood. The vibration of it felt like nothing they'd ever experienced. It was strangely melodic, and twinged within them to their very bones and cores.

The pair were utterly mesmerized by what they saw in front of them: The great Dragon perched as carefully as feasible, claws shearing off pottery shingles from the rooftop that slid down the slanted roof and fall like leaves from a tree. The great beast opened its mouth, and looked upward momentarily, letting out a noise that both clucked and trembled at the same time. A barking noise, it could even be called, and Theo looked at Draco curiously to see if he understood the gesture, or the noise.

The Dragon leaned back down again, close to the person standing there at the balcony, and gently motioned its head in a rolling circle. Even from this distance, the two could see that it was Hermione who stood there alone with the Dragon. It leaned in and she pressed her whole body across it up the bridge of its muzzle. She had opened her arms and held him there, and the beast had closed its eyes as though it revels in the embrace.

At their distance, there were no words that they could hear, only that she released her hold on the creature then, and made vague gestures to him that caused it to tip its head before raising the vast wings to alight back upon the air currents and return to the sky. As the creature lifted off, the area from whence it had perched buckled and gave while the Dragon released its massive bulk from the structure, and a puff of dust appeared below it as the roof gave way slightly after the crushing mass placed on it.

The beast lifted then only enough to ease itself to the ground in the valley. The fading light no longer glittering from its body, but now more shrouded in the approaching night. Glancing back up to the balcony, Hermione no longer stood there. But below, there in the valley outside of the castle, was the great Dragon that Theo and Draco had heard so many tales of. It stood, folding his great wings and nuzzling a section of his membrane to reorder the fold comfortably. It was so vast in size that even at the ground, it could have stood atop its hind lefts and been only a few men in height from where they stood now.

With careful steps, the creature rounded to where they could no longer see it. Wordlessly, the pair escaped their mezzanine and headed back from their wing and down to the lowest level in the keep, so they could get a better look at the great creature that was so revered by their host family.

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	31. Chapter 31

**I might not be able to post for the coming week as the holiday will change my usual schedule. But regardless, I hope everyone has a wonderful celebration, surrounded by love and blessings.**

 **Chapter 31**

As the colds from the North had made their way down to the lower lands, the changes in temperature and lessening of the days light signaling the coming of the winter months. Such changes to an environment were new, and vaguely intriguing, as far as she regarded. For what felt like an eon, there had been a keen degree of ennui that lingered and permeated the consciousness of her kin that had often led to extended periods of listless torpors and nearly-comatose states of existence that their once-mighty race had progressively fallen into. The loneliness and isolation in the barren mountains provided nothing for stimulation, outside of the occasional disputes of territory or breeding battles.

Here, though, was quite different. In place of howling winds and baking sun heat, there were rolling hills filled with trees and wild game. There were rivers and streams, and birds that chirruped at the first light of morning. It was a stark contrast to the lack of vegetation and sparsely vegetated hills that produced endless clouds of dust and desolation at the slightest hint of wind.

It was the persistent aroma of flesh which hovered in the air, like low clouds, that tainted the natural landscape with its vulgar bitterness. The flavor left the palate with a foul bile which coated the tongue when you were forced to open your mouth. It was an unrefined and rank encounter upon the senses, one that caused her stomach to curdle.

With the onset of the chilling weather, the stink of men and their filth became clearer to the senses, sharper even and more able to be discerned into categorical terms. Her sensitive nose had always been able to sort through the nuances and layers of smells; it was something of a source of pride to her. And though the weather brought with it snow, and sleet, and the occasional rain, it brought with it the lessening of stenches for which she did not care.

Slowly, she blinked as she breathed deep the cold in the air and reviewed her thoughts patiently, one by one as she grimaced slightly at the putrescent stenches she was subjugated to inhale. When this was all over, and she reigned victorious over the smote forms of her opponents, she would collect her younglings beneath her wings and secret them far away from the filth of these pretenders and magicians.

A sound of deep satisfaction and contentment rumbled within the caverns of her chest. Her anticipation grew as she felt warmed inside as she stoked her fires high. Her teeth clacked together as the vibration had risen through her neck and to her vocal chords, and her chuckling broke free.

She closed her eyes lazily and purposefully calmed the anticipation that had risen once more. She had practiced this so many times that it was easier now. The best laid plans were the most carefully formed, and she had been lying in wait for an age to see this come to pass.

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Loren Gresham sighed deeply as he busily righted all the documents atop his desk. The ones he needed most had served their purpose in aiding him in his calculations, but he had taken less care than he normally would in maintaining their organization.

He moved them to the side once more and picked up a personal letter, one that he had read over several times but yet been struck in disbelief over. The brow of the Gresham Patriarch furrowed as he reviewed it one more time, and shook his head. Addressing the topic would have to wait for the 'morrow to resolve; the night had long since fallen, and the fellows dwelling under the roof of the castle had long since lain for their slumbers. It would not do to summon one of the Masters to his study to discuss such a subject.

Loren sighed and placed the letter from the legendary Thamoro Mora down atop the other letters and documents. _Ursa hates when I let these become so disarrayed,_ he mused and smiled slightly.

The letter, written in the ancient mage's own hand, requested the return of Master Mora to her family's home, at what was called "a most dire and urgent matter indeed". The Lord glowered; this was not a juncture at which he could afford to situate the responsibility of training solely on Sirius Black. A Master, or not, there were still four pupils to contend with and only a matter of a few short moons remaining to them.

He slid the paper away from him across the desk, revealing a second letter. It was older, and marked with the distinctive stamp of the great boar, two swords and a shield: The sigil of House McKinnon.

Isidore and Loren both had children around the same number of years, and though initially in gest, Isidore had alluded that his eldest daughter, Merrigan, might prove a pleasant match for Loren's Tyt'o. With some friendly exchanges and an inspiration to invite the House to celebrate upon the beginning of the harvesting holidays, the two had hoped nature would take its course without any aid.

This was, of course, before Loren had usurped the possibility of Isidore's offspring from the chance to compete for the pilgrimage. His treachery revealed, Isidore had made no overtures to follow up with the idea. More was the pity was that Isidore had described his eldest in such a manner that Loren had felt it a good match, indeed. One that would allow for affection to grow there, if given time.

Matches were made often with affection, but more often to secure alliances with Houses. Though House McKinnon was not a House build solely on wealth alone, they did possess a daughter nearer to the age of marriageability than many others did. While many of the Houses unaffiliated with their own political miens, it did still hold an appeal to at least _attempt_ to match the two together.

The Lord fingered the letter lightly; it had been crumpled at one point, and lain flat once again letter. He shook his head at the remembrance of the lost political alliances that had dissolved when he had been entreated by Lucius Malfoy to parlay with him all those long months ago.

Leaning back into the soft of the chair that he used in his personal study, Loren pensively brought his fist to rest his face upon as his eyes roamed over the charts and the scrolls of ancient lore that lay beyond these other missives. The lamps and candles around him flickered, keeping the darkness and dim at bay as best they could, and the Lord of the Great House sighed as he pushed these other worries from his mind and focused on more important matters. He considered the words of his Dragon companion, and the exchange they had shared previously. The numbers he had drawn up made sense; the hatching would be upon them soon. Though Goldoduur's restlessness left him ill at ease, as did the creature's frequent surveying of the lands and mountains, Loren felt more in control now that he had studied the multitudes of charts containing studies of Dragon gestation, left by Dragon riders of generations past.

As Yule concluded and Imbolc approached, they would endeavor to wait for the final calling. Lessons in any earnest study would have to be resolved as the rebirth of the sun approached and the cycle of the year moved around once more. As they hailed the coming of another cycle, so too would they have to ensure that their four students were prepared to pilgrim the journey into the mountains, alone save for their magic and enough supplies to carry on foot. Traveling through the dark, in the night, and all alone.

Loren, though he would not admit this aloud, perhaps to anyone, realized then that he was thankful that there would be the two additional strong young men to accompany his own children. If the long months that they had spent here had shown him anything, it was that despite their affiliations to Houses unaligned with his own, the two young men had proved hardworking, strong in magic, and possessed a willingness to work hard. He would not feel shame or apprehension that the two of them would come to Goldoduur and Imri to be judged as compeer and caretaker to their newborn Dragons.

The memory of his conflicted Dragon returned to him, and he was brought from his reveries to consider again the words that were spoken to him by the ancient and wise Dragon. The disturbance he felt was clear, but the reasons behind it were not. What, truly, did a beast as mighty and powerful as a Dragon have to fear? He closed his eyes a moment and recalled the last time he had seen the golden scales before him, glimmering though there was no daylight. The eyes wild, though he fought his instinctual compulsions.

 _The Dragons body weaved slightly as its weight and mass shifted underneath it, his head painfully close to Loren's body, and the pose it was held in was reminiscent of acerbity. The man felt as never before in his discomfort around this Dragon, for Goldoduur had ever been but a benevolent, wise, and ingenious presence through his life. And when Loren's father, Brasil, made his final rest, the mantle and Lordship of the House had passed on to Loren, so thus did the position as Goldoduur's rider._

 _Through Goldoduur's venerable life had nurtured to maturity three Gresham generations, with Loren's children to mark the fourth. Loren, as the standing Lord-current had been born, almost literally, surrounded in the presence of Dragons, and here, for the first time in the whole of his days did he feel the building unease in the presence of his families. The beings eyes, a brighter gold bordering on yellow, burned brightly in their ferocity as the gargantuan form hunkered down to peer at the much-smaller form._

 _In the shadow of the Dragon, with its now-wild leanings, Loren felt without safety in its presence. Naked, and vulnerable to the whims and impulse of the unbelievably powerful beast. Should it elect to do so, he could be captured within the dagger filled orifice that had neared a dangerous closeness to him._

 _The glowing and rapid movement of the eyes, with their pupils reduced to a think black slit, betrayed the savage and disorderly nature which had consumed the creature for nearly a year. Its newfound frenzy spurned onward to the point of mania by the perceived threat to its lands, and to its mates clutch._

 _ **I smell it in the air. Creeping. Tahrovin. Liiv. Krasaar.**_ _The Dragons head moved back and forth in a movement that was more serpentine than it was a Dragon gesture, and the lids lowered momentarily as Goldoduur breathed deeply, flicking his great tongue outward before he continued._ _ **Imri smells only the nest. The dovah.**_ _His head turned and leered into Loren, examining him from only a few feet away now, and Loren as he edged backward, the Dragon continued to close the distance between them._

 _ **What say you, Kro-Fahdon? Smell you this ail poisoning my land?**_ _He looked about his shoulders as though searching for something near him. The gesture harkened of something resembling paranoia, but the Dragon leaned back in again, so close to Loren that his hot breath had cause the man to begin to sweat. The tang of Goldoduur's magic swept off him, coating Loren's throat as he even breathed close to the thing. Loren shook his head._

" _We have seen nothing amiss, old friend." The Dragon's attention snapped back to Loren at the moniker, and this time the eye was so close to the Lord that his hand could have stroked one of the impervious scaled above the glowing golden eye. The black slit looked him up and down, before darting around the area again, still searching, still unnerved and pacing in its wildness._

 _ **Cannot see.**_ _The large male grumbled distractedly, moving its head back again, looking higher into the sky now, straight up into the air, and taking several heavy breaths inward through his armored nostrils. The whuffing sound was reminiscent of a stallion scenting the air when it caught wind of a female in estrus; its use was to take in as much of the redolence as possible. A creature such as a Dragon was possessed of a much more refined ability to scent than any mage could ever hope._ _ **Only smell.**_ _He said simply._ _ **Unfamiliar magic.**_

 _Loren simply had nothing to offer his Dragon, and felt a wave of discomfort as he realized how utterly superfluous he was to his Houses shepherd. But he made his attempts regardless. "What kind of magic is it that you smell, champion?" The Dragon took one final long pull of air and weaved his head back down to focus back on the man upon the balcony, which the Dragon leaned precariously across._

 _ **Old. Dark. Not men. Not Elder. Do not know.**_ _The gold Dragon shook his head lightly, screwing his eyes shut momentarily as though he were trying to clear something from his mind. When the lids opened again it seemed, if only for a brief moment, that the pupil had widened and the eye was combated with less wildness, that it drew tight again and that crazed look reappeared once more._ __

 _The Gresham Lord was uncertain as to what he could say to allay the concerns of this great and fearsome entity, but as he contemplated a thought occurred to him. "Great Mammoth, the Master Necromancer resides here in the castle, she sees to the training of the children. Perhaps I can bend her ear to assist you?" He suggested. The Dragons head cocked over to the side as soon as Loren had mentioned the children and he looked at Loren head-on._

 _ **Ahn Kiir. The children.**_ _He breathed slowly, his voice lightening from the constant growling, and his head lowered still until it was nearly laid upon the stone. He blinked slowly and sighed._ _ **Tyt'o.**_ _He spoke gently._ _ **Hermione.**_ _It seemed that despite the savage demeanor that burdened all male Dragons once their mate clutched and they became an expectant Sire, and guard of to the new mother, the gruffness grew thinner for just that moment. His complex and higher thinking returning to him if only temporarily. Loren smiled and repeated their names as an echo._

" _They miss you." He said. "They long for you. Hermione feels out for you, still every day. She comes to your cathedral sometimes at night, though she thinks herself concealed." The Dragons mouth curved away from the sharp teeth in a gentle show of a smile, and the rich rolling noise of a chuckle sounded._

 _ **Little warrior girl.**_ _The Dragon breathed out, and Loren sighed as he nodded. The Dragons eyes remained closed as he breathed carefully, and calmly. The tension that had wracked Loren during this most unorthodox visit had disintegrated somewhat, and in the seeming return of his guardians previously absent acuity, Loren hesitantly cupped a scale beneath his hand._

 _Though this one scale was able to fit beneath Loren's hand, it would have taken a total of eight of Loren's hand to comprise the dimensions of Goldoduur's open eye. His gesture of comfort_ _was not lost to the mammoth being, however, and he gave a little nod._

 _ **I will come again.**_ _He said stoically, and shook his head once more trying to clear his thoughts. The great beast raised his head once more into the dark of the night, high overhead of where Loren stood on the mezzanine, and he looked down to his mage-friend once more. The wild and glowing appearance of the Dragons eyes had slowly crept back again and he cocked his head to the side as he broadened the wings upward and tested the air by pumping them once, and twice._

 _With massive force the Dragon slammed them down, the membranes catching the air and the downward force impelling Loren down to his knees beneath the weight and velocity._ One, two, three pumps and the Dragon had lifted from the rooftop; remaining cracked and decimated tiles slipping down the roof to the shadowed ground below, emitting soft clanks and shattering sounds when they found purchase on the ground below.

 _Still watching as the mass of the Dragon reached the necessary altitude to take advantage of thermals within the mountain air and climb higher still. Loren watched, no less in awe at this moment than the first day he could remember seeing the mammoth Dragon take to the sky in a show of mass and control over the atmosphere._

The sight that had slowly faded away from view was one that gave Loren great longing. It had pained him to be without the presence of Dragons for such a long time. For the entirety of his life, there had been a Dragon here in Morvan Rove; Goldoduur had waited by, patiently, as Loren's mother had labored for him, long into a day and night until he had arrived into the world with his diminutive wailing.

The pair had trumpeted and heralded at his arrival into the world, and sang a great song in their joy. It was the song of the great heirs, the same melodies that every Dragon sung at the arrival of a new child. The same song even that Goldoduur had sung on the day that Tyt'o and Hermione had arrived as well.

Imri, the gifted, as she was known, had paced nervously within the valley when she had smelled Ursa's panic as her blood spilling away over the covers in the birthing bed. Unable to do anything more than wait for news, she had clucked nervously as the Lady's life ebbed slowly away into nearly nothing.

The heirs of the House, and the masters of the lands of Gresham were connected just as assuredly as the Dragons themselves were bound to the family.

So soon this greatest of events would come upon them, he realized. So soon would his children have their birthrights realized, and their destinies written in the great histories of their House. His heart swelled with pride as he imagined his children, their arms and hands wrapped lovingly around the slim necks of growing Dragon chicks. The scales still soft like snake skin, and their heads no larger than a horse. It had been an age since a young Dragon had lived here in this valley. Too long, in fact.

The Lord lifted his gaze and cast his attentions across the room; the light dancing around within it, illuminating the fine wood, and the shelves filled with rows and rows of books of varied subjects. It was well past the hour of sleep, and in the floors above his wife would have long since joined the realm of dreams. He mused briefly as he recited his blessings in the forgiveness his wife had bestowed upon him.

Extinguishing the lights in the room, he walked softly and quietly through the silent and darkened halls of the Home he had spent his life living in. Having approached the door to his chambers, he entered to find there was still one lone candle, burning still in the dark at the side of the bed.

To his surprise, rather than a smooth expanse of mattress and quilt, a form lay there beneath the rumpled comforter, having gathered the covers around to tuck in any extra edges that might allow the cold an in. Loren smiled as he noted the long and wavy hair of his wife that protruded from an opening at the head of the heap. Eagerly, he stripped himself of his outer layers and lit a fire at the hearth before he gingerly peeled back the comforter and joined her beneath in the warmth.

He closed in the space behind her as he brought his body flush to hers, deeply thankful that she had decided to join him in their marital rooms rather than continue to sleep alone in the old nursery.

As he stilled against her, he buried his nose in the sweetness of her hair and silently praised the Gods his thanks for this forgiveness he had won from her. That they had seen fit to send him such a creature as loving as his wife, he could never repay them for, but he had vowed often that he would bring them honor in revering her once again.

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 **Dragon speak, y'all! Here's what that all means:**

 **Tahrovin = danger**

 **Liiv = Decay**

 **Krasaar = sickness**

 **Dovah = Wyrm/baby dragon**

 **Kro-Fahdon – mage friend**

 **Ahn Kiir = The Children or My Children. (being as old as he is, Goldoduur has seen four Gresham generations! He was there (in a sense) for Tyt'o and Hermione to be born, and alongside Ursa and Loren, was one of the first to make physical contact with the children as babies).**

 **Ah, my lovelies! Thank you so much for your readership! I wish you, and yours joy and peace over these days of celebration! Take care of yourselves, and those you love, and be merry!**

 **I do hope to have a new chapter up after the New Year. Thank you for your patience, your reviews/favs/follows! I wouldn't be NEARLY as motivated without you all here to travel this story with me.**


	32. Chapter 32

**I hope everyone's holiday went smoothly and was relaxing. Mine was chaotic and ridiculous, so I'm glad to be back to some semblance of normalcy. Hope you enjoy this!**

 **Chapter 32**

Rune Mora had lain her coat over the back of her chair with great care so that as she arranged herself in a sitting position, cross legged within the circle she had constructed on the floor, she could sit comfortably. The runes and marks of power surrounding her allowed her to channel her magical energies and efforts effectively, and as she settled into her seated position, she pushed the thick cord of her hair over her shoulder and closed her eyes.

With each breath she settled further into her meditative state; drawing around her core a summoning which she first conceived within her mind, and by sheer will alone drew across the very cells that made up her physical being. Beneath her closed lids and behind her closed mouth, faint murmurings and chants still whispered across her vocal chords as she conjured deep from within the fibers of her body where her magic lay in wait to be cast out, to be used again as its master willed it.

Her normal level of focus and exertion were blessedly lessened by the prevalent magic already present on this day of Samhain. For this was the time of year when the veil between the world of the dead and the living was at its thinnest, making her ability to transpose herself between the realms more fluid and her magic more potent.

Such a feat was not one that she would ever offer up to teach to any of the simple students she took on as a Master; there had been none yet she'd ever taught that had any such similar inclinations to Necromancy, and certainly none that she would deign to take on as her apprentice.

In truth this fact did fill her with a selfish sense of satisfaction; being the sole practicing Necromancer was satisfying with its reverence and prestige. But it came dually with a sense of defeat, and loss. To be the very last in a long line of exceedingly talented and powerful magical practitioners left her with a sense of destitution. Her great talents were mostly hereditary in nature, and her lack of appetite for the form of man had left her long line with no remaining heirs to take up the great mantle when she grew too old to carry it herself any longer.

With each passing year she found that the cold seeped into her joints and made her mornings a little crankier, and the hairs along the middle-part along her head had begun to sparkle and glisten with the occasional silver strand that signified her person moving towards its wiser years.

As time passed, and she continued in her teachings and travels, she earned her wages in gold which she sent back to her home lands and felt jingling in her purse to remind her that, for all her great talents and power, she lived only to serve others. Her life and craft had been given in the employ of lesser folk and for lesser purposes.

But today, on this great day of power, the day was hers. Her power was hers, and her purpose was completely her own.

She gathered within her, like a great and heavy cloak that she donned upon her shoulders, the tingling and heavy feeling of incorporeal magics which flowed through the blood of her veins, and resided within the very fibers of her flesh and bones themselves. She inhaled deeply as she summoned these elements to her, with great ease of both sheer strength of her calling, and the added aid of the day in which she performed this feat, and she felt her very spirit separate from the confines of its mortal prison.

Such a disengagement should cause a person, even one as powerful as she, a great unease at first followed by the sounds of the pieces ripping apart almost unnaturally as she willed herself out of the shell she occupied as a mortal being. Bolstered by the lack of weights that would tie her to the realm of the living, she abandoned her body, taking one final breath within it as she released herself and rose upward and away from her seated form.

As she drifted upward and through the now-present and nebulously viscous veil that hovered above her astral form, she glanced downward once to see her body, though still steadied and her posture strong and straight, it was now without the very essence which filled it and made it herself. Her chest moved only so slightly to indicate that her living functions still continued without her soul there to consciously take control; her body acted automatically to continue its living functions while she departed from it.

Slipping through the cool of the veil that separated the realms of the living from those who were no longer, she felt mostly impassive in her serenity as the remnants of the curtain fell away from her and she stepped out into a grayed plane filled with trees, as though she had stepped directly into a forest.

None of the trees had any leaves, so it was indicative largely of the season the world was currently situated within, and Rune casually stepped into it and began the journey she had sought when she drew the first lines of her circle with the small pebbles she had lined the outer rim with.

The Necromancer, though without her physical form, was not without her feelings and conscious thoughts, and the woman smiled as she enjoyed the lightened feeling within her that her corporeal form had allowed her to relinquish. It felt good to be unburdened and freed in this way, and the effort so nominal in comparison to what she could have endured in her journey to this place.

She calmed herself though, reminding herself the lessons of patience and humility while visiting this realm, revising and reviewing her incantations as her feet traveled over the slightly most, yet completely nondescript and gray earth beneath her feet. The deadlands possessed no colors, nor direction of light; they were amorphously gray toned, and while there was light present, it was not from the sun. There was no day or night here; only existence in a suspended reality that never ended and never changed. The dead had no need for days and nights any longer, and such the realm where they arrived had no designated circadian cycle to adhere to.

She wove through trees through a path she chose blithely and allowed her senses to lead her along. The bark beneath her fingers and she touched once in a while felt softer here, as she was not truly meant to be here, there was nothing she could feel as precisely as an arrived soul, and thus she had no real connection she could make with anything existing within this vast forest.

The sounds around her as each of her feet stepped one in front of the other were muffled, as though the ground were covered in layers of snow, though there was nothing there but the floor of a forest. Each of her footfalls, though little noise was present, was muted.

Time was indeterminate here, and Rune Mora maintained her focus, and wove as her body willed her to through the forest still. There were no little forest noises, such as birds, or streams of water, only a sort of dimmed white noise present around her. It was comforting in a way, and yet if you paused and simply listened, Rune was not positive that the repetitious and haunting silence would not drive a person into a true madness all the same.

Reaching a sort of point where a path seemed to have appeared, Rune found herself being directed more and more by the terrain she now traveled, and accepted that direction as part of her journey. She followed dutifully through this forest path now, within the lands and realms of the dead until finally a bit of a clearing opened up within the dense and wintered forest.

Though there were no leaves upon the various deciduous trees that comprised this wooded realm, somehow dead leaves still fell on occasion from high above, where Runes vision could not see. Either the trees were simply too tall, or their forms simply did not exist anymore; which of these she could not determine.

The area was small, and cloistered, but there in that small area there was an old ring of square stones where there had been a well. It looked aged and abandoned, and there was no bucket or wench with which to draw water from any longer. Upon that ring, there sat an old woman, cloaked in a nondescript cloak, her face hooded from view. Her hair was long, and though light gray, seemed silver and hung lankly from under her covering. Her face obscured mostly from view, her visage was wrinkled and worn from years of life spent living with laughter and tears, as all lives are until death comes for them.

She sat without speaking, and did not move to look to Rune, or to speak to her. In her wizened old hands she gripped the smoothed top of a branch that was much like a cane, and equally as withered and cracked as her hands were. In fact, it looked greatly at a first glance as an extension of her very limbs if one were not to examine it too thoroughly.

As the Necromancer entered the small area a bird which was perched on the shoulder of the old crone, darted its head in her direction. The creature was as black as soot, as black as the night time sky with no starts to guide a person, and its eyes glinted at her as it considered her arrival sharply. It gave a single cawing noise and fluttered its sings greatly as it adjusted itself on the shoulder of the old woman, which it had designated its perch.

The sight of the figure before her caused her to pause her walk and hold her position while the bird scrutinized her in its dark eyes, but the cloaked figure in front of her only moved its palms over the rounded end of the cane. The bird tilted its head at her, and she in turn stared regarded the pair carefully.

The crone's gash of a mouth turned up just slightly at the corners and her voice spoke in a croak without lifting her head. _**Lost your way, have you? It's been so long since I've had a visitor now, what good luck for me, for it is lonely here for an old woman.**_ The sound of the voice both familiar and terrifying at the same time.

"What great luck indeed old queen. Have you waited for company long?" The Necromancer inquired. Though the figure before her was nondescript and barren of colored tones, the presence of the crow and the wizened old stature spoke clearly enough to the Master. She knew in whose presence she stood now, and she paid the elder being reverence in her salutation. The crone chuckled without mirth.

 _ **So respectful.**_ She commented feigning surprise. _**Perhaps you are clever enough to indulge with an old woman such as myself then, hmm?**_ Rune accepted the compliment without comment. The spectral plane was a place of odd creatures, old powers, and enigmatic spirits. Ones that, without question, knew more about bending their powers in this foreign realm in which she has slipped. One that she was out of her depth in comparatively, given that she was neither a God, a ghost, nor a mystical being.

"And what then, would you will for me, Great One?" For what reason could she have placed herself in Rune's path, if not to engage her? Their encounter alone spoke silently of war to come, and death would surely follow. Those portents boded poorly indeed. The crone leaned a degree further over her cane, yet kept her head dipped as she spoke and her crow gave a hop and a flap of its wings.

 _ **Why, but you already know.**_ She said simply, taking Rune off guard and piquing her curiosity. She did not follow the comment, but before she could inquire, the crone leaned further still over her cane and made to stand. The motion was effortless, as though the body before her was in fact, truly not old at all. The cloak straightened as she stood and the bird remained at its vigil as the crone walked slowly toward the Necromancer.

The unexpected approach of the power took Rune Mora by surprise. The corners of the woman's mouth before her twitched in irritation as she neared in a few short steps to come directly in front of Rune's face. The figure was shockingly tall, and beneath the protection of the cloak it seemed as though a greater deal of mass was present that Rune had not noted as the old woman had sat.

The mouth opened in a grimace to reveal the hints of teeth. Teeth that were gray in tone, and though she could not see their edges, she sensed that they were jagged. It filled her then with a sense of dread as she basked in the presence of such power. For as the crone stood before her, power rippled through the fabric of the air surrounding her, as though a large set of fans moved the air in rhythm, caressing her spectral form in invisible cords and vines. The feeling was overwhelming and oppressing in its pressure, even to Rune. As though it could suffocate her.

 _ **There have been bread crumbs left for you, yet you have paid them little heed.**_ The crone hissed finally, and the magic around her thickened and tightened. Thought the woman needed no air to breath in this place, she felt tightness enveloping her abdomen and crushing her slowly and methodically as the crones mouth spread wider, in a slow burning menace. The shadow of the hood covering her face obfuscated her features in the shadow so darkly that it was unnatural given the soft glow of light that surrounded. The depth of the blackness was terrifying, for it seemed to have no end to it. Rune found herself stumbling on her feet as the crushing weight surrounding her continued.

"I –I have seen many things," The Necromancer manage to whisper out to the woman as her voice faltered, unable to fight against the awesome and terrible force which gripped her. Was is a show of power? To demonstrate the Necromancers comparable weakness? She couldn't be certain what the machinations of the Old Powers could be, nor did she question. "Theories-" She finally squeezed out as she tried harder to focus herself and to channel her energy into the effort of keeping her spirit alive. "Whispers-"

 _ **Bah. Your excuses are mundane.**_ The elder spirit before her spat out dismissively and waved a gnarled hand with chipped and long fingernails and the sensation stopped as quickly as it began. Rune staggered under her release and the return to her equilibrium and the recuperated buoyancy of her astral form. She'd doubled over, but peered upward at the form in front of here, still unable to see anything above the thin mouth and wrinkled chin that appeared from beneath the hood, even at this angle. _**And here I have called you clever, and yet you have made me a fool.**_ She neared her face to Runes as she spoke now, and the voice grew lower, more terrifying than before. _**What use are you to me, if you cannot piece together a simple puzzle, child?**_

At the mention of the word 'puzzle', the elements began to fall into place. Rune shook her head and looked at the ground a moment before steadying herself again and righted her body. She had to rise to the challenge, lest she "Perhaps it is not the puzzle that presents issue, but the game master who has set the rules?" The crone's posture straightened slowly at the retort, as though she were winding backward for an assault.

Instead, the head tipped back, jostling the bird at her shoulder and it hopped on its thin legs as the figure croaked out a dry laugh. _**There is still fight in you yet, little thing.**_ The woman said then. _**This place is rife with the stench of decay. There is no liveliness here, no thrill.**_ The face leveled once more and the mirth evaporated from the air surrounding them. _**It will be great fun indeed when you come to join me one final time.**_

That meaning was clear enough to Rune, and she began to feel a bit of panic rise within her as the woman continued in her game of cat and mouse with the Necromancer. Rune had power enough to get her here, with relative ease, and skill enough to use her magic within this place. But to assume she could face off to a spirit, and Old God, was foolery at its finest. She stood no chance here, but still she pressed onward.

"If you wish to keep me here, then do it." She said with her strongest tone. A challenge, as it were. "I cannot stop you, and I cannot discern your puzzles as you have designed them. You speak of bread crumbs, yet there have been nothing more than visions and whispers. There is no significance, no obvious reasons." As she spoke the crone regarded her and reached out to cup her chin as she finished speaking. She leaned in to the shorter woman.

 _ **There is always significance, child.**_ The elder whispered then. The traces of her previous malice now gone. _**You must open your eyes.**_ She said softly, and within the depths of the blackness before her, beneath that hood she saw movement. Shapes. People. Dragons. Before her eyes, there in the astral planes of the deadlands, she watched as battlements raged on, and death was everywhere.

Her blue eyes were wide with horror as the shapes before her played out countless futures to come. Some possible, some probable, some definite. They moved quickly enough, and soon the darkness returned and the ambiguity beneath the hood returned. The bird at the crones shoulder crowed and flapped its wings in emphasis of what Rune had just seen, and she staggered with the weight of her newfound knowledge. The crone gripped her shoulder now with a grip like iron, like a vice that could stop the very earth beneath her from circling and further should she reach out to grab it.

 _ **So you see child.**_ She said simply, and Rune nodded distractedly. The crone released her, and pulled from under the cloak an item which she held out to the Necromancer, her hand pausing expectantly as it waited for Rune to catch up. Rune accepted the offering and examined it carefully; there in here hand, in the deadland realms, she held a red and purple plum. She cocked her head and regarded the old woman. The color of the item was so clear, so distinct in this place, _because there were no colors here, only the gray landscapes and beings within._ But here in her hand stood an object colored as brightly as though she had plucked it from the tree herself. _**This will show you the way, when you are ready.**_

Rune nodded slowly, and the crone replaced her hand on her shoulder. As the Necromancer regarded the gift handed to her, a smile crept up to the thin mouth that broke the lips apart and reveled a mouth filled with long and sharp teeth all traces of the previous benevolent behavior melted away as it happened, and they opened slowly as the crone leaned in toward Rune's ear, whispering so low that it came out as a hiss.

 _ **Such good fortune that you have come here, for I have been lonely indeed, and your recompense will taste sweet upon these old lips.**_

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Her body had sprawled out from where it had sat and wrecked the circle formed of pebbles that had surrounded her, and the runes and signs of power drawn in charcoal and with salt were smeared from the thrashing of her limbs as her spirit had been slammed back into the shell of her body when it was finally returned. Limbs akimbo and her head turned to the side; her person was situated at an angle most unnatural. This was how he had found her.

Sirius had knocked over and over at the door, expecting his cohort to answer eventually, if only to shoo him away or chide him for disturbing her work or studies. But nothing came. It wasn't until he heard rhythmic scraping along the floor that he welcomed himself unbidden into her chambers to find his fellow master splayed unceremoniously upon the ground. Her breath was shallow and weak, and she was unable to be roused. More disturbingly was the trickles of blood that had made its way out of her ears, nose, and mouth as well.

This boded poorly, and Sirius Black scooped up the limp body of Rune Mora beneath her arms and under her knees. Her person was surprisingly heavier than it looked, he noted as he grunted to his feet trying to take care of her long hair as well.

As swiftly as his feet would carry him with such a burden to transport, Master Black rushed her from her chambers and out into the Keep to call for help.

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 **There's a little cliffhanger for you. Hehehe. Sorry/not sorry? You'll get more here in the next chapter; I hate to leave things too mysterious for too long.**

 **Samhain is pronounced "saw-vain" and occurs on all hallows eve; October 31** **st** **.**

 **The crone in this chapter is a personification based on 'The Morrigan', who are associated primarily with war, and fate. There are a trio of sisters, Macha (land, fertility, kingship, war and horses), Badb (associated with war and death), and Nemain (the spirit-woman or goddess who personifies the frenzied havoc of war), together they were sometimes referred to as 'the Morrigna'. This crone is a version of Badb, as represented by the crow (a form she often assumes as a foreshadowing to a battle, and the extent of carnage to come).**

 **Though she goes unnamed in this chapter, you can assume that Rune is very aware of the mythos behind whom she has encountered, but please forgive that there is a little bastardization on my part, as with the Old Gods there are not one specific worshipped entity for some things that I wish to use in my tale, so while I wish to maintain some similarities to actual Lore, there are some things that I've just 'made up' as well.**


	33. Chapter 33

**Thank you to everyone who messaged or reviewed following my announcement. I appreciated your kindness, and your words of support. At the time I didn't have the emotional fortitude to make any real responses, as my stores of strength had dwindled into reactions to normal conversation in the form of weeping.**

 **I will be deleting the update so I can keep the chapter numbers consistent. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 33**

The lute and lyre rang with a light, joy filled tune and Tyt'o kept his grip on his sisters hand light as he spun her around once, her merry laughter tinkling in the air around them. She smiled brightly and he returned it without thinking otherwise. She squeezed his hand before she released him, and he chuckled before he returned to himself once again.

Yule was fast upon them, and there was merriment all through the castle and their home within the keep walls. Temperatures had plummeted and rightly thus lessons had slowed as the warmth had all but been sucked away from every last corner of the stone walls. The interior of the living spaces were dotted with fires that roared through the day to chase away the cold, and with Master Mora having recovered as much of her strengths as she knew possible, it had been an uncommon transition into the holiday.

Tyt'o grinned knowingly at his sister, and he motioned to the players of the instruments to continue on, which they obliged with mischievous smiles. He picked his sister up by her waist and moved her in the customary circle before replacing her to the floor once again and the pair bowed as the music played on. She laughed at her brother as they clapped their hands and circled again.

The little Hall was alight with the activity between the siblings and the small band of musicians who played. The afternoon had been otherwise quite dull and grim. Clouds hovered around the jutting peaks that encased the castle, and a bit of gloom had settled around the little valley over the last week. Snow had fallen intermittently, and with the now-freezing temperatures it was not advisable to take the horses out any longer than they needed to be. Though they were hearty breeds, many of the riding mares were heavier along in pregnancies, anticipating to foal when the spring approached. Joy riding was neither enjoyable for the mothers-to-be as their energies were being used for the development of their foals, and not for petty frolics.

Having only one Master to work the four pupils, Sirius Black had found that without his stern cohort the small team of young adults proved far more unruly than they would be if Rune Mora was present. It seemed that while he excelled in competencies of teaching and instructions, maintaining the focus of four individuals simultaneously was not his precise forte. It was often that while he would engage pairs of his students, the remaining half of his diminutive class would inevitably drift off in focus. Or simply begin running side-dialogue that was distracting and off-topic.

There had been many earnest moments in which Sirius Black had silently gritted his teeth and thanked the fates that he had not ever sired a brood of his own.

To combat the incessant distraction, the Master had finally divided the group into a rotation of pairs, of which he would send one away to the castle library to read silently, while he attended the other in a variety of activities for four-hour blocks. Once the block was over, the pair switched. The day following the pairs would rotate so that there would be no stagnation overall.

As Rune had made more of a recovery, she had been able to sit in with his lessons for short periods before sheer exhaustion would overtake her, and she would find herself wobbling on unsteady feet back to her rooms. It had been more often than a few times that Sirius Black, though much to her consternation and annoyance, had escorted her, insisting that she accept his offered assistance.

At first, her piercing look of annoyance had nearly deterred him, but when he discovered that in her weaker state, she was all bark and no bite, he foisted his care of her upon her without heeding her insistence that it was not required. The pair had never previously taken a large degree of liking to the other; Sirius being a consummate pursuer of women, and Rune being a vehement alienator of kindnesses pair by any man.

Despite the abject horror that had decorated her expression when he had first taken her arm over her shoulder, he had scoffed and allayed her discontent with a simple shake of his head. "Don't let this give you any imaginings of my intentions, Master Mora." He had chided. "I'll have you know I am no man of a great House, and therefore no man to temp you into any understanding." At that she had laughed outright.

"There is no such man alive who would tempt me thus." She mentioned, and Sirius allowed an eyebrow to shoot up playfully.

"And what of beyond the veil, good Master?" He asked playfully. "Is that why your heart is so cold to the men of the living realms?" The pair had continued on as he walked her back to her rooms to settle her weakened body down for another rest. The taxation of moving around and trying to teach was still too great after her ordeal in the dead lands.

"Not even in there, I am afraid." She said quieter and panting lightly from the exertion, and he nodded in understanding.

"I had heard a whisper or so, some number of years back." He mentioned then, and she looked at him from the side, considering him then. She was closer to him then than she had been to any man for handfuls of years, that she could recall, and yet being so joined to his side did not cause her to feel as displeased at it, as she typically would. Though, admittedly, she had never had any inkling to try.

"And what whispers were they that you heard?" She challenged, meeting him head-on.

"Only that the great Necromancer Mora was not a maid who wished to be won by the heart of a living man." At that, she shrugged. It wasn't untrue. There was not a man yet alive that had been able to capture her heart, though she had been dutiful and respectful to conceal and secret the few indiscretions she had engaged in over the years of her adulthood, she doubted that he would have known of them in any specific detail.

Though, the prospect that he had sniffed out as much as he had, despite that the pair had no common social interactions, and their working relationship currently was both new to them as it was an uncommon occurrence within the normal confines of traditional tutelage within Houses of the land.

She remained silent as they had continued their walk together. Her solemnly leaning against him, shuffling her weak feet beneath her as much as she could, trying to take as much of her own burden as she could. Rune would never speak this aloud, but it did feel much better to have the assistance he had offered, rather than to struggle alone the long way back to her rooms.

The pair shuffled along, her full weight now being hefted to Sirius. He gave her a playful side-glance and huffed dramatically. "You are a heavier burden than I would expect." He mentioned, keeping his tone casual, and it made her laugh. It was a genuine laugh, not one fraught with insecurity or bashfulness.

"A heavy body is a strong body, Black." She said proudly and he looked at her with surprise. A female would typically take exception to his kind of humor, inciting a flirtation, or establishing a round of defense to the lady's person. With Mora, her response was unrepentant and proud. It was a statement in itself, and it was different than what he was used to. "I imagine you're in the practice of carrying many women through castles which are not the homes of your family?" She challenged.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, but she interrupted and squared off at him with a look that took him by surprise in its severity.

"Because I can tell you that carrying a woman that great a distance is not a difficult task, if one keeps themselves in good enough shape, that is."

Sirius' jaw all but dropped at the boldness of her proclamation. They had danced around the topic to be certain, and many a time, but to hear it claimed without hesitation from his fellow Master was a shock.

It had been at that proclamation that their conversation had ended. The stairs had proven too great a difficulty for them to amble her up, and Sirius had found himself bending at his knees to take his fellow master up them in the style he would if she were a bride, and he a groom.

At that point, the woman could not –or would not- look at him in the face for any longer through the journey. Upon getting her into her room, and to the bed she used while a guest in the House, there had been a silence between the pair that had lingered through the rest of their trip.

Their interactions were largely to do with their pupils, so to this point it had been rare that the pair had any need to impart anything about themselves. And regardless of the suspicions he had had, and the rumors that he had heard a few scant times, Sirius had still been taken by surprise in Rune's confession.

Between the frustration of keeping the four young students in line and focused for long enough to absorb the information he was trying to teach them, and the constant bother in his conscious over Rune's preferences in partners, he found that he too, had begun to lack focus.

It was at this breaking point, both for Sirius as well as the children he taught, that it seemed a fitting time that the Lady of the House Malfoy arrived at the castle within the valley of Morvan Rove.

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The darkest days of the year had begun to pass and the rebirth of the solar gods had finally begun the approach with Yule less than a week away. The rocking of the carriage beneath Narcissa's feminine frame jarred her as she cast yet another quiet spell around the small space she occupied to bring a little warmth back into her delicate bones. Feeling warmth spread all around her, she buried her hands around her body, casting her magic around her body beneath her thick dress and coat.

The coat she had wrapped around her had proved less than practical at the point where she could first see the mountain range from the window of her carriage. The House of Malfoy, where she had spent nearly the last two score of years living in, was considerably more forgiving where winter was concerned that the lands she entered now.

She sighed and watched the horizon through blond strands that had worked their way out of her low up-do. Given the chilling climate it would be more pragmatic that her hair be unbound as it would warm her neck and part of her face. Instead, the Woman delved deep into the wellspring from which her magic flowed within her and pulled with ease another layer to warm her beneath her clothes. She tucked the sides of her dress around her thighs and leaned back into the padded bench, and exhaled in a long sigh.

The carriage maintained a steady rocking over the road into the Gresham lands. Always at a rhythmic and steady pace, rocking the Lady back and forth as she reposed in this most uneventful stretch of her travel to see her son.

In closing her eyes, she felt only the rhythm of her body, as her thighs had pressed together to conserve and build the warmth she had created. In turn. The constant motion of the carriage, combined with how firmly she held her thighs together had resulted in an unexpected warmth between her legs. And, though she closed her eyes to focus on pushing it away, she felt the pulsating sensation working harder to claim further ground in her nether areas.

A warm and pulsing feeling had taken root there, and had established the kindling for a fire where it grew. With each pitch and rock she fought the urge to squeeze and rub her legs together to stoke the little fire that was building. _It's been too long since I felt that._ She mused as she rocked her hips from side to side for a second.

The realization of where she was, however, yanked her firmly back into reality and she opened her eyes with a start. The Lady took a deep breath and stretched her body upward, releasing her body's tension. It had already been a long trip, and she firmly rejected the idea that her body had certain needs which were being exacerbated by the incessant rubbing together of her thighs. Her sigh was a combination between a frustrated groan and an authentic exhalation.

Her delicately shaped hands, in their finely tooled fur-lined leather gloves smoothed over the top of her heavy velvet and brocade dress. She looked again to the mountains that now began to loom in the distance, growing ever-larger as they neared.

This journey was already too long, she sighed.

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With the tips of his fingers, Draco combed gently through the curls of his inamorato and he deepened his kiss by swiping his tongue playfully over her lips. The sound of her voice as she moaned and sighed together stirred primal urges in his body and groin that he could only quell by touching her, or himself. And the later was absolutely more preferred to the former.

In the circle of his arms, he squeezed around Hermione's body desperately as the surge of urgency summited between them, their gasps muffled as much as they could in their secret embrace in the corner behind a curtain they were occupying.

The heir to the House of Malfoy nearly chuckled into her mouth as she pressed into him firmly, urgently, as her hands entered his hair and the dance of their kissing ran forward at high speed.

Despite the promises spoken those months ago of chastity and patience, the paid had found it ever-more difficult to keep their attentions to themselves, and their studies. At first it had been lingering gazes and smiles when they were alone for rare moments. Their faces would color with youthful embarrassment, and they would smile shyly to the other.

Soon that shyness melted away to heated stares, grazing fingertips, lingering touches, and passing caresses as they rounded corners slower than their fellow pupils. This then opened the doors to secretive and bold touched of hands and wrists beneath the thick and ancient table tops at mealtime, and later evolving into hurried moments behind corners, passageways and thick draperies. Each stolen kiss was exhilarations they had never experienced, and were ravenous to fill themselves with again and again.

Their current desperation was no exception, and though Hermione pushed onward as she literally pushed her body flush against him, Draco rolled his hips into her hips in an explorative gesture. The two broke apart almost just as quickly, both in shock from the seductive escalation that had exploded suddenly. Her eyes were like fire as her breaths were ragged, and the pressure in him pulling as him from his groin raged inside him to be heeded, and answered. But she faltered as he drew her back to him, her hand firmly upon his chest as she glanced at it, and then back up to him. "We must return." She said breathily, and the young Lord leaned back slightly before groaning, knowing she was right.

They had literally excused themselves from their lesson under the guise that they wished to relieve themselves, and not specifically to cave to the growing yearning the two teens were fraught with.

Draco growled out his agreeance to her, and made to release her. As he did she bounced up and took a quick lingering nip to his lower lip, capturing him back into another lingering, fiery series of kisses and tongues dancing together endlessly. Hermione smiled and as she kissed him, reminded him. "Let us away now, before we are discovered, dear heart." He smiled back at the use of her new pet name for him and swirled his tongue one last time with hers as he moved his hands to cup her face and weave the length of her bound curls around his fist. They were like silk in his hands, now callousing from the months of riding and constant training of his physique and magical skill.

He smiled at her adoringly as they spent their last moments in reverence of the other, holding the other carefully in intimate proximity. His fingertips touched her cheek. "Someday." He breathed and trailed down her neck to her collarbone. She nodded her agreement, and with a staying look, the two parted and Draco peeked out from their protected cocoon to check their surroundings for interlopers.

Their luck ran high, and he tugged her gently behind him as the two exited the little space they frequented together while sneaking away from the Great Hall.

From behind the pair, a gust of icy air rushed past them without warning. Turning immediately and dropping their clasp hands automatically, they were met with the sounds of conversation coming from none other than Ursa Gresham, and a feminine voice that Hermione had never heard before.

She glanced to Draco with a look of relief at not having been discovered, but the approaching voices spurned her into action and she jerked her head back to the Great Hall. She strode swiftly to their make-shift classroom, only to glance back at her paramour to find that he had not joined her at all, and in fact he remained where she had left him and was now rooted in place.

She followed his slack and disbelieving expression to where he had focused to see the now-arrived figure of her mother, Ursa, but also a woman slightly taller and of the most beautiful blond hair imaginable. Her features were fine and perfectly feminine, and her manner of dress utterly refined in perfection. It was the curve of her high cheeks and the shape of her eyes that harkened to those of Draco's own facial structure that caught Hermione immediately, as the woman silently and hesitantly strode forth towards her clandestine fiancé. Her hand over hear heart as she neared him.

Slowly at first the duo approached each other until their final paces surged them forward into a tangled embrace. Their arms held tight to the other and Narcissa found that she was now forced to bury her face into her sons shoulder. _When had this happened?_ She wondered as they held the other fast, realizing that only months ago she recalled his height to be shorter than it was now. She smiled as she felt the burn of tears in her eyes, and she fought them away by squeezing her eyes shut and trying to breathe steadily and slowly.

His mother squeezed him tightly before she released him, and in doing so stared straight at him. His hair had gotten longer; it had grown past his tailored straight collar and had just barely begun to brush his shoulders. The boyish features she had committed to memory at his departure seemed less rounded now, his face more defined and his demeanor more confident. Something about the impishness of his posture and his lightly labored breathing spoke of newfound adulthood and the laying claim of a degree of manliness that harkened her attention suddenly…..

She leaned back a degree and _really_ looked at him. His cheeks were flushed and his hair, while long, was mussed at the roots just slightly. No longer combed completely. He was struggling to quell a prideful smirk beneath an exterior of emotions that seemed to be layered atop him haphazardly, like some kind of skill less distraction. She cocked her head so slightly and inclined a light eyebrow upward as she considered him. His jaunty expression settled some, then as he noted how her consideration of him had shifted. Though their hands remained connected, he found himself fighting desperately to maintain eye contact with her, and not turn to look at Hermione, who stood there as well some number of paces beyond him.

It was _her_ mother that broke the silence with a narrowed-eye and reprimanding expression.

"Prithee where do you come from, daughter-mine?" Ursa looked from Hermione to Draco carefully.

As though she were a doe caught in a paralyzing terror before she was snared by a hunter, the girl hesitated only a moment before she gave a weak smile. "Just a ramble to the garderobe*, mother." She said in a voice that should have been more confident. Ursa pursed her lips and looked at the young man before her, at the side of their newest guest. He'd nodded his assent of her excuse, trying not to look too eager.

That he was trying did not escape her attention and she glanced again at Hermione and held her hand out to her daughter without another comment. Hermione approached her mother dutifully and took Ursa's hand. The Lady of the House of Gresham returned her attention back to their newly arrived, and ornately dressed guest and smiled warmly.

"What a lovely happenstance that we have stumbled across this pair; I had left them recently to their studies with Master Black in the Great Hall." Narcissa nodded and Draco offered his bent arm to his mother, and she lay her arms around his forearm.

"Then that is where we shall return them." The stately Malfoy Lady said, and nodded to Draco matter-of-factly. "Studies and mastery are preeminent."

Ursa spoke with their guest invitingly and pleasantly as the pair walked their respective children to the Great Hall to return them back to their lesson. Lady Gresham motioned them inward as she and Narcissa watched on through the break in the door, agreeing without words that the rest of the gathering should not be disturbed in Narcissa's arrival. Upon confirmation that the two were secured behind the tall and grand doors, Ursa squared herself and smiled tiredly for a moment at the woman she now faced.

Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, had never been in an alliance of the House of Allerton, nor of the House to which Ursa belonged to now, of the family Gresham. For what had seemed ages the divided Houses had gouged and tore at each other in endless subterfuge, turning to out-and-out assaults. It was queer now that a supposed master player in that great game of politics should stand here, before her in such a supplicating capacity; as a guest under the protection of the family itself.

Ursa returned her gaze with hesitance back to Narcissa, taking a deep breath to steel herself before she did, but the lady held her hand up sharply before the dark-haired woman could utter a word.

"We need not placate one another with niceties." She said with a mild expression, bringing her hand back down. "I know to what position we have placed your family." Her demeanor was quite casual, for one speaking of matters so serious.

"I see." Said Ursa, considering the woman carefully and motioned to her to the hall leading to the stairs that ascended to the living quarters. "Then how do we find a comfortable convergence, Lady Malfoy?" Ursa inquired as the pair fell into step together. They carefully faced forward as they continued their talk, the tones of their voices were even, and perhaps somewhat quiet. As though they were shielding their conversation from idle ears.

Narcissa tried not to cringe at the pointedly sweet manner in which Ursa Gresham's tone caressed her formal title when she called her "Lady Malfoy." In truth, Narcissa had only cherished her title long enough to discover that her husband was verily a rogue as well as a villain. Despite that private revelation, she held her head steady and her posture proud and she smiled with false serenity to all those around her. She inclined her head, her gesture practiced and perfected as she considered Ursa Gresham now; it would be some time yet until she made a conclusion about her fellow Lady.

"I believe I will remain as free of you, as you could hope to remain free of me, Lady Gresham." She said finally.

Ursa tried not to scoff at her. "Attempting to remain unencumbered seems somewhat belated." She responded. "Certainly it will be more so as time passes."

The Lady of the House of Malfoy had long years of practice holding her game close to her person as she navigated and strategized. Her maneuvering as seamless as possible, and her scheming nearly undetectable. Long years had passed since she had yearned to burst forth from her cocoon of cunning deeds and clandestine plots.

Lady Gresham made an uncomfortable point; if her deduction did not deceive her, he only son had lain his eyes firmly on the only daughter of this House. From his posture and mussed hair down to how his eyes had darted from his lady-love to his mother nervously; Draco was not yet as masterful in own game of cloak-and-dagger as his mother was in hers, and she saw through him as soon as she noticed the pair in the hallway together.

A complicating development this would prove, indeed, she concluded silently.

"Nevertheless, you are our guest, and despite the adversarial past we would issue you welcome besides. The time for the solar god to begin his return of the fertile seasons approaches, and all should partake in that blessing." Her tone stately and her warmth a bit forced, for next to her stood the veritable personification of threat to her House, and her family's safety and well-being. But at that, her status as the Lady required her to comport herself with dignity and poise, though she wished ardently otherwise.

With a smile that did not reach her eyes, nor did it expose her teeth, Narcissa turned then as they reached the doors before her rooms and held her hands out to Ursa. Her fellow Lady accepted them, the challenge met and their eyes locked as they sized each other up directly, their gazes unfaltering. Bronze eyes and blue, considering the other with speculation.

"The blessings we shall celebrate. You are most gracious indeed." Narcissa stated.

"You praise is most charitable." Ursa all but ground out.

Their statements made, the pair released the other after a moment that lasted some moments longer than what would be friendly. Theirs was laced with a subtle, almost-hostility between the two formidable Ladies. They watched the other like hawks; careful and calculating for the slightest show of weakness.

"In the face of such grace, I find it easy." Ursa nodded to her guest.

"I hope you find your rooms inviting and comfortable, and entreat you to join the family and your heir this evening to sup." Narcissa nodded her head only once, and Ursa turned with as much control as she could muster under the scrutiny. Her tense muscles had begun to complain at the tension within her shoulders and back through this journey through the keep to escort their newest arrival.

At the sound of the shutting wooden doors behind her, Ursa glanced once behind to confirm that the Lady Malfoy had indeed secluded herself within the rooms prepared for her for her stay. Her ramrod straight posture slackened and an involuntary palm leapt up to the juncture of her throat and neck as she took a deep breath in, and released it. She quickened her steps through the hall to the opposite end of the vast structure, to where her husband conducted his business matters as the Lord.

From behind the thick wooden door, the Lady Malfoy had placed her hands immediately on the wood that created her refuge in this new haven of hers and drew upon it a spell to seal in noises from the outside. She, too, signed heavily and closed her eyes as she sank her forehead into the wood between her open palms. Slowly as she relaxed and exhaled she released her posture and too, she slackened the stress from her person.

She turned around without opening her eyes and allowed herself to sag just slightly at the door. When she opened them and took in the accommodations presented to her, she found herself quite surprised at the luxury in her surroundings. The lead-paned windows opened to a vast expanse of mountain side and bathed the room in natural light. Thick velvet curtains that were clear guards against the gales winter were pulled back to the sides. A fire crackled away in the hearth, popping and fizzing at intervals. The warmth spreading through the spacious room effectively. Her canopy bed was lain heavily with soft quilts with a duvet, and a peeking around the top looked to be a light and downy animal fur. The wooden posters were ornately carved with images of wood nymphs and brownies, blossoming flowers and great trees filled with song birds.

With appreciative touches she examined them as she walked to the bed to note that the duvet was as plush and soft as it had appeared to be. Her pillows were covered in soft fabric, the likes she had never seen. As she touched and explored, she found herself feeling an unladylike desire to adjourn for the day to sink within the welcoming folds and shut out the entirety of the world around her.

Instead, she sat gently at the edge and considered the valley outside the windows of her room. The snow atop the craggy peaks gave the mountains a cold and sharp beauty. As the wind bellowed, clouds of snow dust gusted from the top of the snowbanks in a frigid fury. The surrounding cocoon of both coniferous and deciduous trees that crept up the slopes of the mountains were littered with their own outfitting of frost and snow. The effect was quite wondrous, when she thought of it objectively.

Political leanings and personal judgements aside, when all was considered, the land surrounding the castle was entirely beautiful. Within the collective of the Houses United, it was thought of quite simply that the House of Gresham has sprung from 'working' origins, rather than descended from those of the aristocracy. Her own family, the Blacks, had indeed been that of ancient noble lineage. Therefore her match to her Lord husband had been a fitting presumption at the time it was accorded. Absorbing all that she saw around her was proving contrary to the vitriol she had been filled with her entire life by the House of her birth, and now the House of her marriage.

Narcissa removed her traveling cloak from her shoulders and stretched as she afforded herself an expression of happiness, here alone and unwatched by unfriendly eyes. Perhaps then as she tended to the seeds she had been sowing these last years by means of her own scheming, she could watch to see what those of the House of Gresham were truly made of. She was here now, and out of the lands of her Husband, and the many indiscretions he was part of. His cruelty was unable to reach her here.

The woman drew her magic around her body, focusing her will carefully. She floated her cloak to its resting place and drew the smaller of her trunks to her with ease as she set about arranging her accommodations as she saw fit. The Lady noted that from behind a wood screen there appeared to be deep tub, and she set herself to ringing for a domestic to have it filled.

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 **I'm going to come out and let everyone that I am pro-lgbtqia. I'm sorry if this offends you. I wouldn't have written Rune if I weren't in support of these things. I should mention though, that Rune is a challenge for me. I wrote her initially as entirely a lesbian. But the longer I write her, the less I am certain that this is what category she will fit into. I guess it's just going to go how it goes, and I hope people enjoy it.**

 **If you are entirely and morally offended by this kind of subject, or addition of this part of the character; then I should warn you now that I am not above writing w/w sex scenes. I don't have any actively planned, but I'm mercurial, so who knows where I might end up. So, fight me nerds.**

 **This week's vocabulary:**

 ***Garderobe: this is a historic term for a room in a medieval castle that served as a "toilet". The only difference I'm going to say, in my story, is that a garderobe in this world I'm building, it is not just a chute (or hole, as it were, which eventually what coined the term "shit hole", because literally; shitting in a hole that made its way to an outside location and was allowed to just… run outside?) to some outside place. Imagine if you will, more of a Roman concept with a constructed system that channeled waste to be processed with vinegar and buried. Something like that. I'm honestly still working out the plausibility on this, so please don't analyze too much.**


	34. Chapter 34

**Oooo, 2 chapters in 1 week! This is a short little interlude. Nothing quite as long as I've done in recent chapters, but I hope you enjoy!**

 **Chapter 34**

Fluffy tufts of snow alighted along her dull red snout with barely audible noise, and she huffed the flurry away from her with an exasperated exhale. She shook off the distraction as the snow continued to fall around her and she drew her fire up into her mouth, churning it slowly along her lengthy tongue as it dribbled downward from her jagged teeth.

The fire from inside her burned so deliciously that she couldn't help but chuckle. The force of breath from within her caused the molten fire to spew from her, drenching the snow covered ground with hisses of steam that formed as it obliterated the cold substance utterly.

In the ancient tongue of Dragonkin, she spoke in a tone so low that it sounded more like a rumbling sound than it did words. She murmured of conquests and victory, chanting the words of power again and again and hoarding her magic within her core.

The wait was almost over. Her worm had spies that had brought news of the hatching, and it was nigh upon them. She cast a great wave of fire at the ground beneath her, circling as she did. The inferno boiled away the snow sending up great hot clouds of steam and exposed the earth beneath to her bath of fire.

As she rounded once and twice she banished the cold away and rolled her great red body down into a snug little circle. Once settled she cast her eyes to the House and pulled just slightly on the tether within her that had tied the worm to her when he freed her from her magical prison.

She chuckled smugly as she released it once again, allowing the slack to return. It was surely entertaining to play with it when the occasion struck her. But not too much, she had cautioned herself, lest her little worm piece together the true consequences of what he had done.

Restoring herself to her torpor in the cold, she tucked her muzzle in once more in hopes she would dream again of her victories to come. And little babies to raise as her own.

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From the relative safety and warmth of his familial House, Tom frowned as he watched out the window at the snowfall in the twilight of evening. He had already privately conceded that the intermittent spewing of fire was indeed a real disconcertion to the people who occupied the villages surrounding the House. Though, he would never speak such a concession aloud.

The first weeks had had throngs of countryside denizens flocking to the great House with wildly displeased faces and shouting protest at the disturbance to their livestock, and the terror of their children. A pointedly timed roar out of the Dragon had banished the uninvited plaintiffs back to their homes, screaming and wailing as they scattered away.

The lands had been relatively quiet of the people. They had shied away greatly after that. The nearest Vassal House had been seen the next day hurriedly loading belongings into a series of carriages the morning following, and the family had still yet to return.

As the red settled itself down, he felt a light tingling deep in the sockets of his eyes. He closed them and rubbed his lids a moment. His head felt lighter for a moment as well and he reached out to the wall to steady himself.

Just as quickly, the feeling passed and he opened his eyes again, and righted himself. He shook his head and questioned silently if he ought to take his meal in his rooms to rest, rather than in his study as he had been these last long weeks. _Too much reading by candlelight_ , he thought. The warning words of his mother rang in his ears, even as Lord and a man, he remembered when she would scold him for secreting away with a candle to read old scrolls and books found in the libraries where his parents had worked.

He bit the inside of his lip as his mind was driven to distraction beyond the plans he had formulated for the coming weeks. The Lord of the great House of Gaunt turned away from the mundane scene of his Dragon as it warmed the earth on which it had slept, and he fell back into the center of his study once more.

Absentmindedly, Tom levitated a log onto the fire and pushed a bit of breeze into the hearth to air the fire and stoke it higher, catching the log aflame as he did. The crackle of the bark and fizzling sounds of coals was the only noise that joined him this evening. The man eased himself into the softness of his chair, and retrieved his quill once more to finish his letter to Thoros, whom he had not seen after their little _confrontation._

Thoros' letter assured him that, while he was nearly fully recovered, he had discovered a new frailty to the chills of deep winter and begged pardon to travel to him when the assault of storms had passed. When Tom has sent his request to Thoros, he had an inkling that the older Lord would still not be able to travel in bodily comfort as he one had. Not yet, at least. Tom had secured that fact in one of the spells he had cast over Thoros as punishment for the information he had withheld from him.

If it was one thing Tom despised, and had always done so, it was deception amongst allies. Though it was true, he could see plainly that there were Houses with which he was aligned that would turn if they thought they had greater political gain to do it. But his magic was stronger than theirs. By leaps, and bounds, as though it flowed from the very wellspring of the Earth below and straight into his core. Not a single one of the Lords of the Houses United could compete with him magically, and they knew it well. They'd known it from the first time he had appeared at a conclave of the union, proudly bearing the banner of his ancestral family. Old royalty they were, yet not a single family member had occupied the lands in as many years.

He had had to prove, unequivocally, that he had greater determination in droves, and was utterly without mercy before the first of them bent the knee to him. Once he had secured the one, the rest followed like the livestock they were. Whimpering and soft aristocrats, and descendants from long-dead royal lines of ancient kings they all were. Politian's, schemers, and wealthy peerage headed the Houses of these Lords, without a single day of taxing work to tally to their names. No, they had been fed creamed beefs and wine from the day they had been weaned from the suckling upon their wet nurses as their families wore the finest silks and furs their serfs could tan and tailor.

They were fat and sweated like pigs when they climbed but a bit of stairs. Their pale skin burned mercilessly in the summer suns, as there were no purpose for them to be out of their vast Houses.

Tom looked down upon his hands, wrapped around the top of his parchment, and the other with quill nestled loosely within. The callouses of his hands spoke of the hewing of timber, the repetitive motion of scrubbing floors with boar-hair brushes on his hands and knees, and the husbandry of livestock. These were not the hands of a Lord of a great House, not at all. Yet, here he sat within a room that boasted some of the oldest texts of historical significance in all of the Great Houses. Spellworks of ancient kings and conquerors, long since lain to rest in their royal tombs, their words and memories passing into legend and story. The very desk at which he sat now bore the wear of thousands of years of his family's ancestry to have sat at it, written upon its surface, and read by the light of this same hearth.

His accomplishments as they were spoke greatly of his determination, and the abolishment of his fears. Still, his strong character and his potent and irrefutably powerful magic and skill were not enough. Not when it had come to _her._

Absentmindedly, the man paused as he reached his hand out to the top of his desk where a small leather bound book sat, not much bigger than his palm. He hovered his hand above it and closed his eyes, aching yet one more time that he could will his magic to bring it to life that she would stand before him in this room. Gently, he closed his hand over it, and picked it up. Untying the soft and worn laces that bound it at the top and bottom, he opened the little book to uncover the single page that rested inside the leather binding. There inside was a portrait, small and simple. An item of the most precious nature to him, above any other object in the entirety of his family's home, this was, for it was the only item he had of _her._

Tenderly and with careful fingers, he touched the surface of the little painting. So many years before this he had paid a simple man a practical fortune to paint it, to the description he had asked. And though the painter protested that he had no subject, the description of the woman Tom gave him was so precise and perfect, the man did not need it.

Her dark hair was painted with a luster he had never known hair could have. It shone even in the low light of the fading hearth. Her eyes would glitter as they would laugh together, spelling objects to dance when they were young, and playing at childish games.

Her smile had been so perfect, that every time he saw it, he thought he might not be able to breathe if he looked for too long upon it. For years before he had even become a man he would look at her; while she studied, while she walked next to him, while she played with her younger siblings, and he had known what he had felt for her.

She had been swept from her family's home so quickly, that Tom had never again been able to speak to her. The last time he had seen her was her tear-stained face as her mother pulled her away down the hall to her rooms, where she had been barred and imprisoned until the pair were packed and ready, and she was sent away. He had never lain his eyes on her perfect face again.

His finger grazed over the painted image of her perfect lips upon the little canvas he kept close to him. The hint of a smile played on her lips as though she were about to share with him a great secret, and when he recalled in his memories the times that he watched as she would blush for him while he touched her cheeks, he felt he welcome stirrings within him, yearning again to hold her again in his embrace.

And yet, for all that they had shared, for the years he had loved her, she had married another man. It had taken him months to reach the lands of this House, and a pair yet again for him to legally assume the seat as Lord. When his formal request had been sent to her father, he had felt hopeful and happy that his response would come swiftly. The House of Gaunt had always been one of the revered and wealthy, and their pedigree could be traced to many legendary figures through history.

But it had all meant nothing.

Not even a fortnight had passed when Tom had received a simple, and dismissive response to him informing him that his second eldest daughters hand had already been spoken for, and her wedding was imminent. But that he had interest to invite him to entreat with him for her elder sister, a great beauty, in her stead.

Tom had incinerated the letter with his bare hands as his rage had consumed him utterly. His bellows of fury had been matched only by the destruction he had wrought with his own two hands upon anything he could reach, and crush.

It had been in this fit of madness that he had vowed, upon his magic, that he would revenge himself on the heartbreak she had brought unto him. He would repay her in kind for her abandonment of him, of this he would ensure.

Unable to fill his family's home with the bride he so desired, he had immersed himself in the task of gathering together the forces of Lords who had comprised the Houses United, once again. In the several score of years he assumed the helm as Lord of the House Gaunt, he had prospered his lands once more in establishing trade agreements to benefit the fine craftsman who lived and worked in his lands. The farmlands before his assumption had all but been abandoned by their families in years past; as the House owned all the land, there had been no more tenants to tend the land and care for stock.

There had been several old mines that had once brought forth some of the most beautiful and precious gems known by the world, and yet they had been looted and abandoned, and were manned by workers no longer.

It had been many hard years to begin with, but as time had passed, more folk had been willing to return to the farms, and markets flourished in the cities again. The promises of prosperity bore fruit over the years, and Tom took part in every little venture.

The man sighed contentedly as he closed the softened leather pieces around the portrait once more, and tied it back carefully. His head must be softening indeed in this middle age of his, he mused briefly, if now he recalled his childhood love with such affection and longing. He chuckled and placed it again upon the desk and returned to his letter to Thoros Nott once more.

Soon it would be that he would see her again, and she would know what pain she had wrought upon his heart and soul when his recompense was taken. For he would take his pound of flesh from her, and he could cleave it out of her very heart with his bare hands if necessary.


	35. Chapter 35

It wasn't intentional for so much time to pass between my chapters, so I hope you can extend your patience just a little more for me.

Chapter 35

From beneath the bangs of his hair, sweat had formed in beads at the hairline, and gradually begun working down his brow to the soft flurries of his eyebrows. It was his first distraction and as his focus wavered he heard a soft hiss next to him.

The trio of his fellow students and now-allies simultaneously vocalized as the magic being carefully fabricated between them wavered when Theodore's mind had strayed from the repetitious incantation, and though he had faltered, he turned himself inward and strengthened his concentration once more to bring his mind fully back into the application.

Waves of rippling energy moved all around them, generating great currents of heat and thus subtle movements in the air. The small group of them knelt all facing each other in a circle, their hands raised and close to touching as they joined their focus and magic together as both Masters Black and Mora watched on, studying their technique closely. A ceremonial circle of blessed evergreen and oak, maple, and yew branches had been lain with their ends tied together. Dirt and salt circled that as well with rose petals interspersed to build a barrier for which to contain the volatile nature of the magic conjured.

Master Black scowled as he saw Theo's facial expression tick out of his meditative lull, but for only a moment. The movement was so slight that he did not speak out to chide or mention it, but allowed the exchange of magics continued. Such a hesitation could cause the foundations of this spell to weaken. His compatriots could _feel_ the change in the spell at Theo's change, and surged forward more force to try to bridge the gap that had begun to form. From where this reserve of power and determination had come, none of them could truly say. Their limits were pushed utterly through this exercise and as they were each pushing their cores with every fiber within them, they drove themselves ever-quicker to the brink of sheer exhaustion. But yet they urged themselves as a unit to attempt to reach a crescendo.

Feeling the combined force of his fellows cover what ground he had lost them, Theo grounded himself within his center of focus once more, and with all the power he could conjure with his magic, he rejoined the company once more to complete the spell.

From the very edge of the hall, Ursa could no longer remain seated as she watched the four students being pushed and driven so mercilessly. The show before her was one of sheer brutal exertion upon their raw magical power. From where she witnessed, the four, though kneeling, had created a wave of fire that hovered just above their circle that was so powerful it had caused the very force of their magic to _burn_ as though it were a bonfire.

And just like a fire, little crisped particles rained down like ashes being burned of wood all around the circle, festooning the floor and landing upon their teachers as it fell. The pair of instructors watched closely as they guided the might of the spell and continuously maintained a barrier of their own magic to protect the fortress in which all the denizens of the House occupied, lest the magic cause a true fire to catch.

Ursa could not have said when she and the Lady Malfoy had managed to find themselves standing so closely together, practically clutching upon the other in their nervousness and anticipation as the spell had begun to reach levels of intensity that the women had found themselves both in awe, and in fear, yet unable to move or speak out of fear of disturbing the casters. But, in the moment she realized that, despite their families opposing political standings, and their loyalties to their Lord husbands, the Lady Malfoy and she were not wholly different. For here they stood in the face of a terrible, and yet necessary spell that was being cast by their children, and they were as nervous mother hens pacing around their chicks in fear of foxes sniffing around the coop.

At the onset of this lesson, Ursa Gresham had politely and dutifully entreated Lady Malfoy to join her to watch one of the instructions for their children. In her own formally polite manner had accepted, though the Lady remained only as friendly as strictly necessary in her acceptance, she sat politely without engaging as the two watched the Masters establish their intended lesson.

Following the Master Mora's injury and subsequent recovery following her spirit walk, the intensity and frequency of lessons and exercises had lessened. Though Sirius Black was powerful and driven, he was yet only one man. Shouldering their lessons exclusively was effort not donned easily.

As the Master Mora had regained her strength and stamina, she had seemed to slowly move away from her brooding and reserved demeanor. By no means had the pendulum of her personality swung so diametrically in the opposite direction; for the woman was still quiet, and curt as a rule. But she had been seen to smile –if only slightly- and _chuckle_ on a few occasions.

It seemed that a brush with death had opened a part of the Master to which none within this House had previously been privy. Or perhaps it was that the brush with otherworldly powers had changed how the Master perceived her surroundings. One could not be entirely certain, but speculation was popular.

But now, the Masters in tandem surmised the spell and its casters closely as they focused on the power being shared and the powers compelling it invoked. They had been joined by Loren Gresham as well to oversee the application of the magics and lend his own powers in guiding the direction of the spell, as well as protect the structure from damage.

The magic laying layer upon layers of protection over the four in hopes that, should the time ever come, an accidental expulsion of Dragon fire, would not burn incinerate the individual. Such were the precautions that newly minted Dragon riders would need when their tiny wyrms were learning to control their eruptions. The lessons learnt by the earliest Dragon riders had been passed down through the generations in hopes that those who would replace them would not have to learn from the same mistakes.

The nature of the magic they cast to accomplish this was through shared efforts and forces. Today was the first day of Yule, and a day of auspice to recognize and celebrate the rebirth of the solar god. Life beginning to return to the lands, and in the magic they shared, they invoked the blessings of all the gods to be used in this protection they cast for themselves. A great day indeed to cast such a spell with the looming deadline for the hatching drawing closer.

Ursa herself had never witnessed such a ritual, as Lady Malfoy had not either. And though this was a practice that had long been employed by the House Gresham, it had once been one of other Dragon-riding Houses as well. Though now, in the political climate which had caused such rifts between lands and Houses, it was no longer confirmed what the Houses Abildgaard or Harben practiced anymore. But for now, the intensity of the room had consumed all who were within it. The witnessing mothers and Ladies present stood tense and closely together as their breaths were held bated as they watched.

The faces of the students were furrowed and even as they murmured their incantation, the children's eyes were screwed shut tightly as they continued the remaining chants required. The Masters and Lord Gresham surrounding created a sort of triangle around the group, each with their own hands poised to lend _physical_ control and guidance of the excess of magic that could easily threated to ignite should the lessen their assistance in containing it.

Lady Malfoy watched on at the group, so closely situated together in their present practice, she looked on as her son lent his strength and power to protect and aid his fellow riders. Such a spell was not only being blessed by the start of the marking of Yule, but the very words that the invokers uttered were vows of protection marked by the blessing of the gods of old. Power such as this was marked as some of the oldest known, and was used in such sparsity these days. Alliances such as these were so rare, as it was frequent that Houses could rarely trust truly their own supposed allies. As she bore witness then, it occurred to her that through this process, both her son and the House he would rule as the future Lord, he would forever be bound in magics to these three.

Though it had been only a handful of months since her son had been sent to this land to live and train by the designation of this House, he had grown. Not so in the notion of how far he stood from the ground, but in his stature and his build. Already on his way into manhood already, her son had left the safety and solace of their families abode with soft cheekbones and a penchant to smile with a hint of cruelty. An expression reminiscent of some she had seen her own Lord husband make.

Now, before her, knelt a man. A true man, in what seemed to be every aspect of the word. As the company of students had prepared this circle, she had watched as her son had volunteered himself eagerly to assist in the establishment as blessings were called and offerings prepared. He'd shown no hesitations, nor pretenses about his station or position within the dynamic between the four of them. It showed him to be comfortable with each of his fellows, and without suspicion that he should guard himself.

And the girl. Lady Malfoy had considered her quite carefully as she absorbed the scene before her while the incantation had begun. She, as it turned out, was something quite special indeed. Though, as far as Lady Malfoy had first been impressed upon, the girl was attractive enough to be considered above average, one at least could argue that. But it was how she conducted herself that was so special. This young lady showed no fear in asserting herself as powerfully as if she were a man, but too much as though she were herself a Lord. She neither demurred nor simpered in any way. If she spoke to you; she looked you in the face and at your eyes. On the occasions she had been privy, the young lady had spoken her mind rather than bitten her tongue.

She was neither subtle, nor gentile. A lady her age would have already refined herself with an effortless grace of poise and finesse. A practiced veneer which she would wear all her life as she looked forward to impressing her virtues upon a future suitor in the hopes that she should become his wife and Lady. Though instead she was arguing the merits of their placement within a Calling Circle to best invoke the spiritual magics of the Gods in equal exchange with young men who would one day be Lords of their own lands and architects of their own destinies.

As she pondered those observations it occurred to Lady Malfoy that in the circumstances in which the young Gresham lady found herself, it was clear such a burden had never been placed upon her. Nor any notion of feminine decorum was foisted upon her. If it had, the effort had not been sincere. Though certainly, she had manners, and purported her person in a dignified way. Her posture was impeccable, and she maintained her speech eloquently. Even her little colloquialisms were refined. Though she could become a bit loquacious when she veered to a topic of great passion for her, she was intelligent overall and unreservedly exploring the true depths of her own magical potential.

Though she would never speak a word of it, it caused Lady Malfoy a pang of jealously for the younger girl. Her own upbringing had been one great strictures and the ingraining of the idea that she would be _obedient_ and come to enjoy quite thoroughly her service to her future Lord husband. Such a frivolous notion of _independence_ would have been positively beaten from her, in a very literal manner. A woman who hailed from the great House of Black _knew_ her place intrinsically, following a lifetime of influence and manipulation from her parents it had been difficult for even _her,_ when she had left the home of her parents as a bride to strike then on her own and pursue her own magical education.

In all fairness, however, it had been out of simple necessity that Lady Malfoy had needed to learn and expand her magical knowledge base. First out of requirement to care for her own person, especially when her Lord Husbands tastes had begun to edge toward beastly, or even mean-spirited, as he had been on several occasion where he found her progressive _absence_ of pregnancy displeasing.

Yes, while necessity was the mother of invention, it was, too, the very drive behind her to maintain her person, and someday the culmination of her life's efforts. And now, as she watched as her son and his compatriots delved deeper unto themselves that she had ever seen in the whole of her own sons magical training; his concentration writ plainly upon his face as the very efforts and length of the spell had begun to tax each of them in turn, yet they remained stalwart against the onslaught of the force which they had summoned and deigned to manipulate to their collective wills.

It was in this moment, though she watched apprehensively at the show before her that she was quietly assured that in time, when the hour was upon her, that her son would be powerful and fit to rule as the Heir he was meant to be.

Prior to the decision to have this spell cast _presently,_ Loren had not put much thought into what reaction he would have seeing his children under duress while casting spells and invoking blessings of the Gods while during the Yule holiday. As he watched them now, nearly grown as they were, he found himself under a surprising amount of duress in witnessing as they wielded and controlled the spell so prematurely in their lives as magic users.

The four of them knelt before him were each strained with all of their physical and magical might to continue as they had been bade. The heat conjured magically continuously surrounded the group rising upward constantly.

The time of year was not ideal for this kind of magic, and the requirement from each participant was greater than it should have been, but need to perform it had become paramount and thus a necessity to ensure their safety.

This was not the first time this spell had been performed under this very roof, but the first he had overseen as the Lord. His own experience in conjuring the _benedictio incendio_ was as the caster rather than supervisor.

The waves roaring upward had finally begun to die back as Masters Mora and Black slackened in their tense holds and began to draw themselves back, and Loren followed suit. With the final incantations set, the trio of overseers stepped outside of the circle drawn with bows of evergreen and conifer cones, smoothed stones and lines of dirt that had been laid down in consecration to the event. The circle had been placed around the students as a further level of protection, lest the forces conjured managed to lurch from their control.

Loren smiled with pride as the four –though particularly due to the two he had himself sired- slackened evidently. They righted themselves, some taking time to gulp down steadying breaths, some wiping the profuse sweat that had wetted their brows, and the two Heirs of the Unified Houses to grasp wrists and assist the other to stand to embrace briefly as they clamored their success.

Tyt'o glanced at his sister as she knelt still, steadying her breath, pausing longer than the other three to rise and exit the circle. For until all four of them left it, it should not be disbanded nor disturbed.

"Wren?" He whispered to her, and she nodded without turning to him.

"Aye." She acknowledged. Her copper eyes were closed as her heart beat wildly in her chest, as though she had been running for her very life. Rolling heat carried along her skin so fervently that as it did, she fantasized about stripping down her vest and shirt into her chemise, and peeling down the breeches she wore to release the trapped flames that seemed to have budded inside her body. Her brother's hand was then on her shoulder, comforting as much as seeking, as only a sibling could.

With his bare hand, even through the barrier of her clothes, he could feel the radiating incalescence the magic had imbued within her, and he drew his hand back with caution. "You burn sister." He whispered with warning, his eyes now steeped in concern. She wavered slightly, the heat growing too much for her as she struggled with the buttons of her leathers down her chest, her hand seeking his.

As they connected, she too could feel the swelter from her brother as though she had plunged her hand into scalding waters and drew it back with a hiss.

Loren watched as his children dallied within the circle still, and strode to them purposefully. "Make haste in your leave of the circle. The heat of the spell still dwells within, and the longer you stay, the hotter it will become until it consumes you." His children managed to look at each other and nodded. Tyt'o affirmed to his father that he acknowledged and grasp his sister's hands as he helped her to rise, though she faltered in her steps as he walked with her out of the circle.

The very instant they crossed the threshold, the cool of the air washed over them like an ice bath and Hermione could feel the relief coat her as the magically created heat was quenched in the air. She sighed loudly at the feeling of relief.

"Aye gods, it be hot." She bemoaned and leaned herself over to rest her flat palms across her thighs. Her brother, seeing her to safety, joined with his father in conversation at the completion of this endeavor. She felt a comforting palm stroke her back and she looked up to see that her mother had joined their group from her watchful position at the edge of the room. Her face was, as always, ever filled with warmth, but too written much with concern for her daughter. Hermione offered her a weak smile, embarrassed suddenly that her mother should take such pity. She felt a coil in her stomach of something unfamiliar, irritating. The acute fact of Draco's _mother_ being present within the Hall, watching their progress in their spellwork, she felt _weak_ then, and ashamed of it. She'd required the lingering assistance of her brother in front of the unfamiliar woman, and pointedly aware of the fact that since her arrival, the woman had carefully –if quietly- scrutinized her.

The young Heiress had never been so unnerved, and discomfited within her own home, and particularly at the silent examination she felt she was constantly beneath. The sensation of being watched was so great that she struggled against the inclination to hunker over and cover herself. Her higher mind kept stomping its proverbial foot, reminding her that this was _her_ House! Her family! Her home. All she could do was present as polite a façade as possible, and try not to draw too much attention to herself.

Even now, as her mother looked to comfort her, the awareness of her own shaky countenance was so keen that she shrugged from beneath her mother's hand and glowered. Ursa's expression great pained and tinged with a little hurt as her daughter rebuffed her, but she recuperated gracefully, cupping her hands together in her signature posture.

Though the pair had finished their congratulatory exultations, Theo and Draco had simultaneously taken stock of the room around them; the sole powerhouses residing under the roof of the House of Gresham all present in the aftermath of their spellcasting practices commanded attention from the four youngling mages.

Both the Masters attended Loren Gresham in subdued conversation as they had seen to the dissipation of the lingering run-off magic that had coursed upward from the circle in which it was performed. Shockingly, Tyt'o Gresham, so normally quick to take part in those circles of communication, had uncharacteristically made his way to Theo and Draco to watch as they did from a farther vantage. The young Lords in turn greeted him thusly with nods and exchanges of familiar pleasantries.

"Draco. Theo." Tyt'o acknowledged them each with a nod, and the young Lords returned it politely. "Our success is assured, and due in no small part to yourselves. I thank you both. You have both proven dedicated to your studies and apply your skill without compunction or hesitation." The due opened up their stances to form an open circle together as the Gresham Heir spoke.

Taking up the mantle of diplomat without hesitation, Draco smiled calmly to the man he then realized would someday become his brother-in-law. Though the young Lord knew nothing of his plans to woo his younger sister yet. "A dream can't become reality without hard work." From beside him, Theo nodded his agreement.

The Heir to the seat of the Gresham House shook his head in good-natured disagreement. "A dream for my sister and myself? Aye; for all of our lives." He admitted. "For you pair, this was not your dream. This path was foisted upon you, as was the training it demands." Tyt'o glanced back to his father, and the pair of Masters who were concluding their convocation together. "The spell we have just conjured takes not solely skill to command, but too harmony amongst those who call upon it. Such a spell does not always succeed the first time." He glanced away briefly as he added. "There can be casualties."

Theo and Draco glanced at each other briefly: Their previous conspiratorial meeting had not been discussed further, and the pair had tried still to remain obsequious in the presence of the Gresham family that their united interest in dedicating themselves fully to the task as riders should not be immediately discovered, and therefore reported back to their fathers. Here too they were too exposed to discuss such a private matter with their peer to see if he would consider their interest in permanent association. The young Heir continued, however, not seeing their wordless exchange. His voice dropped further to mask his words.

"Many other families within our Guild have trained their Heirs. For many years, even. At the change in offering for the seats, many of the allied Houses felt a great rebuke in our supplanting of their own sons and daughters." His copper eyes –so alarmingly like his sisters, Draco discovered, that he straightened his body physically to remind himself of his focus on her brother, and reorder his mind from wandering to young lady he furtively sought to wed. "It bodes unwell on many fronts." He concluded, and looked to the two, in earnest. "The challenges we face still will test us further than even this, and we shall have to rely on each other greater yet before our paths reach their climax."

It was then that he offered his right hand, outstretched first to Draco, who hesitated at the hand that was extended. He took it slowly, his gray eyes meeting with Tyt'o's fiery copper ones. "It is trust that I place in the two of you that will either make us all, or break us completely." Tyt'o concluded, and similarly extended his hand to Theo, who per his usual impassive demeanor, had witnessed without speaking.

Tyt'o's meaning was clear: The hatching for which they trained was impending, and whatever remaining task the four of them had to overcome would be the greatest test they had faced in this continuous endeavor. The pair nodded to their fellow young Lord, and now-compatriot in the shaky and new solidarity he had offered the two, before he took his leave back to the conversations that were occurring between his own immediate family members.

When alone again as the pair, the seeming outsiders within the House, Theo spoke quietly to Draco without leaning in to draw attention to themselves. Though they still took speculative stock of the room separately, ensuring they were not overheard. "I assume we continue to be united in our choice of course in this?" Theo inquired.

Draco did not nod, but turned his gaze towards the Gresham's directly. Specifically, at the young Lady that had begun to take up residence within his mind, and heart. "My course is all but set." He agreed. Theo grunted lightly his acceptance.

"And what of the Lady Malfoy in this? Young Gresham has extended his own approval, but what of his father?" Draco sighed lightly, tearing his mind from the playful musings he enjoyed clandestinely when his Lady was so torturously close by.

"Of that, I am not yet certain. We have not spoken on the matter." He offered, combing his still-sweated hair behind his ear. "Our conversations remain light and superficial; I cannot confirm if she is truly the eyes and ears of my father in this House, or if she has chosen to come here for some other play."

Theodore Nott could only exhale, agreeing silently. Such was a reality within the Noble Houses when pertained to parents and child; there was not truly any way to determine what manner of leaning was occurring. And when one felt assured that the tides were pulling one direction, it could very easily veer off course entirely still. "You may not be my brother in blood, Draco, but you are my brother in conscious and now by magic we are bound." He placed his hand on Draco's shoulder. "No matter what the outcome will be of our time here, I will pledge to you my help in what will need to be done." Draco was taken back slightly by Theo's proclamation of unity, though not discomforted by it in the least. He smiled and placed his own hand similarly on Theo's shoulder to return the sentiment.

"And I yours, brother." Theo produced a rare smile in response to this, his compatriot now truly his friend and ally. "We will forge a new path of our own then. United, together, for our futures."

"Aye."

From across the Hall from where she had sat, Narcissa could feel the corners of her mouth aching to pull upward in a smile. Though she fought against the compulsion strenuously, hoping to maintain her air of constant indifference. But truly, it was not factual that she were made of stone, and in her spying of the sentiments being exchange with her son –and now what seemed to be his _friends,_ she felt herself experiencing happiness for which she was uncertain of what to do.

For so long in her life had the years, and the possibilities seemed so bleak, and her list of allies so unbelievably small. What she saw before her _warmed_ her as she had forgotten she could be. Her son was making allies. Ones that would see him through the trials that lay before him. They were not won with intimidation, nor shows of overt power, or blackmail. They were being forged through overcoming adversities together, and sharing strength and knowledge. Idealistic, certainly, but for such a young age, that they were present and available was a good sign. These could be allies for him as she shaped their futures together, she hoped.

Lost in her observation of the aftermath of the ceremony, the Lady had not noticed that beside her had come to stand one of her son's instructors. One Master Mora, who, presently, had situated herself shoulder-to-shoulder with the woman.

Narcissa's winter gowns and over cloaks while under the House of Malfoy had traditionally been made of dark shades and subdued cuts. She presented herself with subtle elegances and demure presentations to keep questioning minds away from her person. Never to draw attention to herself. But here, in the presence of a rivaled House, she had brought with her a covert cache of gowns that she had secretly been building before she had left her husband's House. Today she wore one of a dark royal blue with embroideries in golds that nearly bordered on orange. The liveliness of them accentuated her light blond hair so magnificently. From beside her, Rune Mora smirked as Lady Malfoy took no notice of her approach.

"Are you pleased then, with the outcome?" She questioned, striking Narcissa from her reverie. The Lady all but sputtered as her composure was broken when a jolt had coursed through her body. The Master stifled a grin and a chuckle, seeing she had unraveled the Lady.

Narcissa righted her composure at once, not daring to show the stranger how she had been surprised, and how that then challenged her unflappably indifferent disposition. "I understand the spell was a necessary precaution in light of what it will protect against. I gather then that it was successful?" She played her tone off as though nothing had been amiss, and Mora could all but keep from grinning further, finding that the woman she stood before was entirely more intriguing up close, than she had been from far away.

Rune Mora had come to stand so close to Narcissa's shoulder, that she found herself discomfited by the unexpected closeness. Being a Lady as she was, there was a small number of people who were permitted by propriety to be so physically close to her. This woman was not within that circle of people.

Glancing at her politely, Narcissa took in first that the woman next to her was one of the Masters instructing the four students. Her brown hair was bound behind her head, and unless she chose to gawk openly, Narcissa only momentarily took stock of the woman's blue eyes. Not a color such as her own, which were light and brilliant, but muddled with something that might be a tone of gray. Politely glancing away again, Narcissa tried not to shift uncomfortably.

Rune Mora, however, was not so polite as she, and continued to look at Narcissa. "A very necessary spell indeed." She agreed with the Lady. "Any protection against the possibility of having the skin seared from your body whist you die in slow agony, I could imagine would benefit greatly."

Involuntarily, the ghastly imagery cause Narcissa's beautiful face to grimace. Though even in that expression, Rune found that her beautiful and fine features remained quite pleasing. Rune Mora chuckled lightly. "Many find that my attitude is not aligned well with that of the aristocracy, my Lady. I apologize for my offence."

"As well you should." Narcissa agreed, leaving no quarter behind.

"But not the imagery." Narcissa whipped her head back to Rune once more, surprised by the added cheek. The instructor, though minutely, edged closer to the Lady. "Such realities for the Dragon Guild are terrifyingly true. When the younglings' fire first comes, many a rider has suffered burns." Seeing an uncontrolled horror and displeasure creep to Narcissa's expression spurred her on. "Assuming that they manage not to anger the Dragon Sires at some stage in their pilgrimage to the nest."

The two women stood facing each other, as Rune had hoped she would. Narcissa's eyes blazed with disbelief at her brashness, and Rune found herself verily enjoying seeing the Lady finally pulled out of her shell of complete disassociation from her surroundings. She was like a beautiful doll all the time; poised, perfect, and utterly unmoved by anything surrounding her. As though she was made of the most beautiful glass.

Lady Narcissa found that her long fuse had reached its terminus. "The Lord Gresham will see to it that each student is properly protected in turn. The Sons of the United are here as _guests,_ and are to be provided the same protections as his own Heirs in this endeavor." She seethed. Rune Mora smirked as the Lady unwound herself so, and she reached out to her hand as Narcissa finished.

"Aye, which he shall." She purred as she entered closer into the personal space, which Narcissa was then painfully aware had been breached. The woman's similar height allowed her to see her eyes for what they were, which was blue and piercing into her own. She shifted her weight slightly as she felt the warm fingers trace slowly up to her wrist, daring Narcissa to look down, and look away.

Rune's eyes refused to break from hers, and yet Narcissa refused to be the first to glance away. Like it was some kind of competition they were in to see who would break first. She was so close that Narcissa could smell her now. The smell of cinder, and some kind of spice she could not name, but vaguely called to mind something masculine, and oddly attractive. "They will be well protected, Lady." Rune nearly whispered, her breath carrying to Narcissa the scent of cinnamon that carried on with the alarmingly compelling aroma that was exclusive to Rune herself.

Narcissa nodded hesitantly; The Master had breached her perimeter so carefully that she had no way out without drawing attention to herself. She noted then that she had been cornered with Rune's brash statement, and reacted just as Rune had wanted her to, and had turned to face her so Rune could close in. In the periphery of her vision, she noted that Rune was wider than she was. Stocky, one would consider it. Not so much as a man, but more so than such as she was with certainty. The fingertips which had played gently along the back of her skin had caused the fine baby hairs that lived on her arms to stand at attention, shivers moving over her shoulders and up her neck.

The minute jerk of her arm, and Rune withdrew her hand and her eyes grew speculative. "My apologies for offence, Lady." She said with unexpected politeness. "Perhaps I had the wrong impression of you."

Narcissa desperately wanted to smooth the skin at the back of her hand, to calm the sensation that still faded gradually, but utterly refused to show any sort of reaction in the face of a near-stranger. "And what impression would that be, precisely?" Rune raised a dark eyebrow, and her expression grew playful.

"I don't need to speak it aloud for you to know what I mean, good Lady." Before Narcissa could object, the Master bowed to her dutifully and bid herself leave without another word. The Lady Malfoy watched as she left, the length of her hair –nearly to her waist, swished behind her in her masculine garb and determined pace.

The back of her hand still tingled, and Narcissa winced at what she felt, for it was the first time in her life she had ever felt something like _that._


	36. Chapter 36

**I feel so bad for the disgusting length of time between my previous update, and now. Getting back into the swing of things has been…. Difficult. Seeing to a loved one's last wishes while dodging family dramas is surprisingly taxing as well. But, onward we go!**

 **Also; slight (?) trigger warning for spousal abuse and general douchery towards women. Shit that should get a dude kicked right in his peen. Misogyny, and all that.**

 **Chapter 36**

Against the cold, dry air of morning, frost bit into the warm edges around Hermione in a slithering approach, which was familiar to her as her whole life had been spent living under the whims of the high mountain weather. The familiar and homey scent of burning wood had joined the cold in a daily ritual that brought familiar memories to her mind. Air at altitude is a fickle thing in the winter months; it grows so cold that when you suck it quickly through your nose, the moisture in your nostrils freezes the sides together for a few seconds. This was something, that as children she and her brother did as soon as they could manage to explode their way out into the outdoors once they'd eaten a warm meal.

Now, standing at the edge of the balcony door, wrapped in her bedclothes and fortified in warmth through the covering with the vestiges of her nested heat. She had tried reliving those childhood joys fondly by sucking the air through her nose, trying to make it stick once, twice, thrice, before she heard a deep and familiar chuckle just behind her left shoulder.

She didn't need to turn her body to know who had joined her there, looking out of the frosted glass and onto the stark white sheets that decorated the valley and craggy mountains their home was nestled within. Her brother, from his higher vantage, rested the point of his chin atop the crown of her head and wiggled his jaw. She snickered, and jerked gently away without taking her eyes off the outside world.

"Does sleep abandon you?" He inquired, and after a lengthy pause, and a sharp sigh she wobbled her head indecisively.

"No, not at first." She admitted and her brother grunted his understanding. "It arrives surely enough, it just never…" she paused, hunting for the right word.

"Stays?" He supplied and she nodded, finally glancing back at him. He, too, exhaled sharply. "I find myself waking to strange dreams and sounds." Tyt'o murmured distractedly, as though it were an afterthought. From beneath the many layers of her quilts and coverings, Hermione shifted them to wrap tighter around herself. Her state unruly and unkempt from the bed she had only just left.

Her brothers words, though less loquacious that she herself might have made them, rang true for both of them. She looked at him seriously now with her eyes which matched his own, the ones he had spent every day of remembered life since childhood seeing, and they understood each other completely.

From beneath his own wrappings, a hand –warmed still by the heat of his body- reached for hers, and she took it. From behind their eyes, visions of dreams and nightmares haunted their thoughts and minds still, though it was the earliest waking of a new dawn. Dreams of fire, of screaming, and even of death.

Yule had passed more than a week prior, and since the first day of their festivities, there had been oddities occurring more and more that unnerved the siblings. First, it had been the greater sense of _unease_ which had flooded them almost immediately after summoning the blessings of _benediction ignis draco._ The protection against Dragon fires had ultimately claimed Hermione in particular to exhaustion, and for a full turn of the sun she had lain in bed with symptoms of fever, though her skin had nary a trace of heat.

Their mother had dutifully watched over her with matronly concern for her youngest child as the young woman had thrashed and mumbled in her sleep until, in an uncharacteristic show of fatherly concern, their own father, Loren, had relieved his wife to attended her bedside in her stead.

Tyt'o had not been much better off himself: His head had been swimming since he had pulled his sister from the magical circle of blessing. His equilibrium was off, and he felt as though the core of his body were going to catch fire. Eventually he, too, succumbed to the delirium as well. Though without the same dignity as his sister had. The young Lord had joined his mother in her vigil over his sister and subsequently passed into unconsciousness in a seat at her bedside.

In his matured height and weight, neither Loren nor Ursa could manage moving his body to his own rooms, so they simply tucked blankets around his shoulders and left him to stay in the rooms as well. And though rest had cured most of what seemed to have come with the aftermath of that casting, it had been strange that only the pair of them had seemed so effected by the ritual. Though both Draco and Theo had each taken to their own rooms, both citing exhaustion and unrest as well, The Gresham heirs had been particularly affected.

The siblings stood there in the frigid and crackling air together; the cold was bitterly pervasive, yet it now failed to permeate them. From where their hands clasp together a radiating warmth was growing between them that heated the very air around them to the point where their coverlets were no longer needed. Hermione smiled at Tyt'o, and he returned it in kind as they felt the growing heat there, spreading with the new magic they had discovered.

He nodded his head as he squeezed his sister's hand, her expression was stoic and calm in the face of this newness, though they had not yet spoken any words of it yet together. Upon the discovery that when joined together in any direct contact, any combination of the four of them could conjure this heat and command it accordingly seemed to puzzle their father. Hermione had not yet voiced it, but she wondered fleetingly what would result from the _four_ of them together trying to harness this ability.

Releasing the other, the two spoke quietly then of simpler matters between them as Tyt'o closed the door to the cold outside. Though they too were less affected by the elements, the castle itself was still subject to the laws of nature. The old stone structure, when heated sufficiently by method of the various fireplaces, would hold the heat to supply warmth to its residents. But if allowed to cool too much, the warming once again of it would take a greater feat than to have simply maintained the warmth.

The pair walked together back to their familial wing of the castle to retreat to their rooms in preparation of the day ahead. Silently they bid the other adieu as they parted and Tyt'o left his sister as she made to open the door to her room. She bit her lip mischievously as she flushed in a rush of warmth over her body after she allowed her imagination to open up to the question as to whether or not Draco and Theo were experiencing the same revelations as she and Tyt'o.

She glanced over her shoulder at the hallway leading to the guest rooms they occupied. The sun had already begun its daily ascent, and soon her family would stir from their slumbers and make to the hall to find a meal. She sighed hard and chided herself for not having the forethought to seek him at his chambers. But the very idea of being behind the door to his chambers simultaneously made her heart race uncontrollably. It was one matter entirely to steal away with her beau to exchange secret kisses, and another completely to enter a closed room with him in the shyest hours of a morning.

The young Lady disregarded the nagging sense of maintaining decorum and smiled wickedly to herself. She might not yet have the audacity to do such a thing, but imagining it harmed no one indeed.

She opened the door finally and let herself in, her mind at rampant play at the thought of Draco's unclothed person at the forefront of her mind.

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A wave of heat ravaged up toward her eyes as she glanced over the script again. Her hands, soft and delicate, shook as she palmed her quill again only to smack it down atop the writing surface _for the third time._

Already, several weeks of separation had made her emboldened in her anger toward her husband. _Why did he write her now? Of all times?_ In the privacy of her own rooms, Narcissa swore savagely while crossing her arms over her chest. Her _bastard_ of a husband, again _dared_ to command her? She was working herself up to a fury as she re-read some of the _finer_ points in her husband's letter to her, speaking of her obedience to him, and her loyalty to his House.

Nearly two score of years in being his wife, and it seemed that she had finally had enough. With confidence in her indignation she slapped her palms across the table and ripped the letter and papers away, hurling them off to the floor. But now that she'd tapped into her anger, she couldn't stop herself. _It felt so good to finally be able to feel without fear of notice._

Narcissa threw the table over on its side, along with the chair, drawing her magic to her command as she turned her rage to the mantle behind her, causing the fire inside it to rage into a veritable inferno under her power. She pushed easily through her arms and hands to the blaze in front of her as the flames erupted into a spitting volcano that bloomed out from the hearth stones and onto the earthen clay tile half-circle that surrounded the fireplace to keep stray sparks from igniting. As she pushed the rage from herself, she felt horrified that hot tears had crept into her eyes and run a track down her perfectly smooth cheek.

The heat from the flame was what caused her to finally have to retreat and dial back her magical summoning. Raw use of power was not her normal manner, and she found the exertion one part exhilarating, and another tiring as well. Though, as with all magic, it was in the practice that made it possible. Were she a Lady of temperamental outbursts, something such as this would not cause her to falter.

The Lady wiped at the traitorous tears she had allowed to fall as she took a deep breath in, and at the calming of the flames. She forced herself to take several deep breaths and cleared her mind. She gently conjured the righting of her desk chair, as well as returned the small table to its standing position, turning around again to smooth her hands over the top, noting that there was a sizable indentation in one of the sides where it had struck the floor with force.

She half-smiled in a wordless chide to herself. "Ah, see what manner of guest am I that I throw my hosts furniture around while I spit and curse like a petulant child? All over that bastard shit that I call my Lord." She whispered in spite as she molded the wood back to its original form as she bend her magic to her will through her hands.

The last piece she commanded to her side was the parchment that had arrived for her late the evening before, and the source of her irascibility. A letter from her husband, and Lord of House Malfoy. She sneered as she turned the man's name 'round in her mind. Remembering his handsome features and his cruel demeanor. Twenty year was a long time to be treated as a brood mare and an underling, and Narcissa had remembered _every_ slight, every strike upon her flesh, and every cruelty he had shown her both with his words and his hands.

She curled her hands around the paper and sat herself down, taking her quill and an ink pot to prepare a response to the Lord. As she wrote out the very first words of her letter, 'To my Honorable and Good Lord Husband, the Lord of the House Malfoy', she found that she wished to spit upon those very words, as though she were no more than a common churl. Her words soured in her mind as she continued along her stream of pleasant salutations to the man whom she was married.

She had not had enough time to work the pieces of her puzzle into play yet, and she would simply have to placate her _Lord_ while she worked out the legalities she needed to return to Castle Black once more. But this time, as its Lady Regent.

The Lady crafted her words with great care, speaking of their son's tutelage specifically under the Masters employed by the House, but in the steads of flushing out the presence of her cousin, the Master Black, she only mentioned that of Master Mora. Meticulously outlining the rigorous physical training they endured through the week with various physical exercised on foot and horseback, she took great care in her brief statement that the Master Mora was at the House to tutor, but not to what extent. Should Lucius suspect that his Lady wife had, in fact, no intention to return to the House of her 'dear' Lord, her cousin's presence would be suspect and her plan potentially exposed.

It was for this reason of discovery that she had, over the last years, fell out of contact with her remaining family of the House of Black. Though Sirius had been the named heir, it had been his brother Regulus that the title of Lord had been passed to when Lord Sirius had forsworn his House in favor of a Mastery. It had been his place as the eldest son to take up the mantle of Lordship and lead his House to success and prosperity. But when Regulus had disappeared with nary a trace, the title had been left in suspension waiting for Sirius to claim it.

As she wrote her false affection for the man she had been supplied as a bride to, she felt her own posture sink as she remembered the sad histories of her glorious and royal House, the great and noble House of Black. Kings, they were once, of old years long past. Their lineage proud and strong with both magic and leadership over their lands and people. For centuries they had ruled proudly with prosperity only to find themselves scattered now among the division of Lords that ruled, and squabbled like common yard hens over territories, taxes and trade disagreements.

The men who had been born and raised to be brought to power and lead were, to Narcissa, largely ineffective and petty. They wasted time posturing and bluffing to each other over perceived slights and in a constant show to one-up their rivals while lining their own pockets. In reality, their inconsistencies and overpowering taxation to their surf classes was so stifling that the people over whom they ruled suffered in abject poverty in ruin. Meanwhile the Lords themselves dined in plenty and lived in luxuries that a common household could nary dream of in their wildest fantasies.

And at the very bottom of the pile, from where all the hardest burdens were pushed, were women themselves. They carried greater burdens than their politically scheming husbands in that they were wholly underestimated, and even greater still completely disregarded. She sighed wearily now as her mind found her miring in memories of the fates following her two older sisters.

While each of the young maids that had been born to the House of Black, by mere factor of their gender they were unable to be considered as possible heirs. Those distinct honors had been shouldered by her cousins Sirius, and then Regulus respectively following Sirius' disownment. But the three daughters of Cygnus and Druella had each, in their own rites, been both lovely and poised, as well as cunning and shrewd. Their father Cygnus had been possessed of older ideals where it concerned his daughters, and their educations had been extensive in the subjects of House Managements, and proper noble etiquettes, but had lacked decidedly in places where his heirs would have been allowed to excel. Such free reigns to explore magics such as she had seen here, under the roof of the House of Gresham, was strictly forbidden.

Shortly following the _carting off_ of her eldest sister, Bellatrix, with her fiery temper and wickedly playful sense of humor, it became plain to see that despite the little indulgences they were allotted as adored daughters, they firmly served only one purpose for their families and this was to build alliances through the mingling of blood.

Bellatrix had been the first to marry, and at first glance her betrothed had seemed a perfect gentleman. Poised and kind, thoughtful and wise. Handsome with his auburn hair pulled back and tall stature. It was first at their own wedding celebration that Narcissa first witnessed a glimpse of his faltering indulgence of his sister's liveliness. For as she danced in celebration with their cousins, and their kin, she had let her beautiful dark curls to fall freely and wildly, like a great and wild halo of chaos and resplendence as they gleamed by torch and firelight. Unbound as she should as a lady she looked as wild as a forest sprite, and thrice as filled with life and joy. Her smile was a beacon that night, and her new husband watched her like a hawk. His greedy eyes feasting on her in equal parts lust, and jealousy. When she returned to his side, he turned to her with his smile solid and icy, and clamped upon her forearm with such a force as to leave a handprint as he forced her the rest of the way to her chair.

Her cry of protest had been silenced with a very public and very forward kiss straight upon her mouth, her dark eyes betraying her sudden fear as they darted immediately to Narcissa, who was seated within her line of sight. Narcissa hadn't missed a single bit of the exchange, though the guests to the celebration whooped and cheered the couple on, thinking them in quick love with the other. It was Narcissa who knew otherwise.

It was shortly after that Bellatrix had been hauled to her feet as she struggled to pry out of his hands. All traces of joy from dancing and celebrating had been dashed away and had been clouded by her reproval and indignation. Her groom's hands bore down on her as he drew her close and whispered in her ear. She had paled visibly as her face slackened, and the fight left her and the man smirked his triumph. Her sister's dark eyes had darted again to Narcissa, who sat helplessly as she watched this abuse of her sibling unfold before a veritable crowd, who all seemed to care more about the tempo of the music, and refilling their wine than they did for the treatment of a woman.

It filled Narcissa with a bile she had never before experienced, her stomach churned as her eyes never left her sister, who was shortly paraded out on the proud arm of her husband, her hand limp and her eyes a bit glassy as she accompanied him out of the Great Hall within Castle Lestrange.

As the wedded couple had left, more cheers and shouts heralded the pair of his intention to imminently christen her as his wife in their marital bed, and her lively and spirited sister fearfully cast her eyes to the ground as she was led away. It was up until this point that Narcissa had felt the first fires of rage building within her.

Bellatrix had done nothing wrong! She bad been proper and chaste with every man with which she had danced that eve, and most of them were her own blood! Lord Lestrange's possessiveness was disgusting, and Narcissa closed her eyes as she exhaled a fantasy in her mind of wrapping her magic around his throat as Bellatrix fled the Hall alongside her.

Had it not been for a clearing of his throat, Narcissa couldn't have been certain she would have opened her eyes back up to break away from her vision so quickly. But there beside her had stood the Lord Lucius Malfoy. His blond hair perfect and pulled away from his face. His doublet fastened beneath his coat gleamed with a rich forest green under a coal gray coat, and he smiled to her.

It had been the first time she had lain eyes upon the Lord, and looking back at what she had just witnessed, she wished at this moment that she could have stood, and bade him a good evening. But his poise had been perfect, his manners were sharp and polished. He spoke kindly to her, respectfully even. He praised her dictation and pedigree claiming she was the _finest_ Lady a Lord could ever hope for. An _equal_ to himself, he had called.

His words had been sweet, but filled with lies all the same, as she had discovered. For she was no equal to him.

With a final flourish, Narcissa of the House of Malfoy looked upon the name of her husband's House, and vowed to herself in that moment that she would have her revenge. Every one of them that had suffered through the domination and cruelty that had been bestowed upon them for no reason other than their fairer sex, she vowed for them too.

If she had to burn every great House to the ground with the fury of her own magic, the Lady Narcissa _Black_ would reclaim her name, and reclaim her House as her own birthright.

With a satisfied smile, she heated the wax to seal her letter accordingly, pressing the coat of arms of Malfoy into the heated substance and waited patiently before it set and she peeled it away. The Lady leaned back into her chair and took a deep breath, drawing air into the very recesses of her lungs. Her night had given her such emotional turbulence that she found herself looking at her vast bed with its quilts and comforts. She lay her letter upon the desk to be seen to in the morning, and ran her hands over the ties to her gowns, commanding her magic to unlace her garments as she reached up and unbound her hair.

As her dress began to fall to the ground, she heard a soft rapping against the thick wood of her door, causing her to jump as she reached for the collar of her garment to pull it back up. When silence followed, Narcissa found hesitation in calling out to whomever called upon her in her rooms, but when a second series of knocks was heard, she re-tied her dress quickly and swept to the door, pressing her hand to the wall beside as she spoke.

"Who calls?" She asked, and as her voice waivered, she cursed in silence that her confidence had wavered. From behind the thick wood she thought she heard a chuckle, and nearly gasp at the male tone to the voice before she was sorely proven wrong.

"Too afraid to open the door?" A deeper, but feminine voice asked silkily. Narcissa jerked her head back in scorn. _Afraid_? Narcissa sneered.

"A Lady knows never to open her door to a stranger in the dead of night." She said with an air of superiority to the would-be stranger at the other side. "Now state your purpose, or leave me in peace." She commanded and folded her arms across her chest defensively.

"I brought you something to warm yourself." The voice said again, more quietly and Narcissa scrunched up her nose in a manner less becoming a Lady, and more like a young girl determining if something suited her sense of smell or not.

"And who assumes I need to be warmed?" She challenged again.

"Come now, we're in a castle in the reaches of a mountain range so vast that it took our ancestors a hundred years to cross them! It's frigid out, good Lady, and the warmth of the fires never reaches quite to the bed." Narcissa rolled her eyes and dropped her arms hesitantly. She knew whom it was that stood at the other side of the door. She played with the latch to the door in hesitation as she warred with her annoyance and nervousness in turn

From behind the door she heard no other noises. No breathing, nor shifting of feet. She reached out hesitantly with her magic to sense if it were more than one person at the other side, or some kind of scheme to pull her out of the safety of her room. As the unseen source she had send out sought some kind of contact point, she felt it batted away just as quickly, like a feline swatting at something in the air.

She jerked from the door at the feeling of having her magic so harshly quashed and scoffed as she heard a laugh being smothered on the other side.

"Ah, what a pity then." The voice said, with what Narcissa heard as mocking disappointment, followed by footsteps that paced away further from the door. The Lady held her breath a moment and sagged against the door, allowing the tension to flow out of her shoulders. She tapped nervously on the wood of her door a moment before she palmed the latch gingerly again and slowly opened the door once more to look into the corridor.

The walkways were dark in the night, and barely any light shone around. She straightened and opened the door a little more, wondering why the visitor had carried no torch to light the path?

From beside her to the right, a chuckle sounded which caused Narcissa to gasp, and throw a hand up in defense of herself. Magic bursting from her palm to form a barrier of protection around herself in a show of pure reactionary magic.

The force she conjured within her met with something immovable and unyielding, like nothing she had felt before. Usually when she used her magic, if unchecked with another's spell work it could travel through doors and walls and even a person if she willed it to. But there outside her door stood the stout, and smirking countenance of one Rune Mora.

The other woman smile was a bit crooked and a little bit more cocky, and Narcissa felt herself bristle slightly as she pushed a little more, uncertain of what she had encountered. Rune shook her head slightly.

"Tisk, tisk, good Lady. It seems you are a great deal more skilled than you let on." Narcissa felt her stomach drop slightly as her face grew a little cold at Rune Mora's implication, but yet she did not let up the spell, but continued to test in little places here and again at the barrier between them to seek some kind of weakness.

Rune tilted her head slightly. "Clever, clever." She whispered, and stood up from where she had been leaning against the wall. Her blue gray eyes had met Narcissa's and never broke with them. "It's rare that you see a Lady of such a great House use her magic so freely," she paused dramatically. "And so skillfully."

Narcissa steeled herself, not allowing her expression to change, but felt the borders of her magic being pushed inward as Rune stepped a little closer. The Lady pressed harder outward, and Rune stepped forward again, causing Narcissa to shiver at the diminishing ground she covered suddenly. Unwilling to concede, Narcissa fought against the idea that she could use both her hands and increase the power she wielded, but at the expense of showing how much power she _could_ wield.

Her would-be opponent smiled then, and put her own hands up in surrender. In one of them there was grasp the neck of a dark bottle, and the Master smiled slyly. "I didn't come here to battle wills with you in a dark hall, my Lady. Trully, I only came to offer you a warm drink." Narcissa felt the barrier that enclosed upon her wards dial back and recede completely away from her awareness. She shook her head in suspicion.

"Why then were you casting against me?" She asked quickly, and the Master shot her a disbelieving look.

"I'm not the one that threw a defensive spell without even looking whom they were sending it to. Bit jumpy you are, don't you think?" She accused, and Narcissa scoffed, immediately lowering her hand.

"I'm not the one skulking around in a freezing cold hallway in the middle of the night, scaring Ladies to their wits end!" She shot back, and Rune Mora chuckled again.

"So you agree that it's too cold to be out in the dark, do you?" Her smile showed the faint crinkles around her eyes that gave her face a warmer, less serious look to it, and it occurred to Narcissa that the woman before her was not _unattractive_ to look at. But she shook her head nonetheless at the impetuousness and gall of her uninvited visitor.

"Too cold for company." She bit out finally, straightening herself and crossing her arms again.

Rune held her gaze for a few extra breaths before she shrugged, and began to walk away. "Well if you ever want warm company, I'm sure you can find me."

The chuckle in her voice was more playful that it had been, and less suggestive than it could have been. Narcissa watched as the other woman walked into the darkness of the rest of the castle, with no light to guide her in the night, and disdainfully shook her head at the strangeness of the encounter.

At that, she shut her door, and pooled her magic with _both_ hands to ward her door soundly from intrusions, and crept warily back to her room. Muttering in a most un-Ladylike way she recounted Rune's arrogance and strangeness as she once again disrobed herself and made her way finally into the cold of her bed.

As the cold of the icy sheets beneath her quilts made contact with her much-warmer flesh, Narcissa shivered and moaned as she willed her power back around her to warm her immediate area as quickly as she could, and scrunched up her nose at how _accurate_ Rune's statement was about the warmth of the fire being unable to reach all the way to the bed.

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	37. Chapter 37

**I see that there have been a few new followers to this story! Thanks so much for joining me through this tale I am writing! I hope you continue to enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!**

 **In case I haven't mentioned the disclaimer before; all intellectual property and characters of the HP universe belong solely to JKR, and are in no way mine. The OCs are, as is this general plot, but that's it.**

 **Warnings apply (slight misogyny again), but will not be a permanent fixture unless they're significant.**

 **Chapter 37**

Sunlight lit the interior of the study in which Lucius Malfoy found himself delicately perched upon his chair. Like he was a bird, poised lightly in preparation of flight. Before him, Tom leaned ominously upon the side of his desk in front of him, reading the letter from his Lady wife once again.

Tom's hazel eyes scanned across the words written in scripting so perfect it could be considered the bar in which to set instruction by. He read them over again once more and he felt his chest grow hot with annoyance and shifted at the sudden change in his temperature absentmindedly. Lucius before him similarly shifted, uncomfortable that his Fellow Lord had, upon being handed the letter, come to stand directly in front of him to read it, rather than seat himself at the desk.

The words, while somewhat explanatory, were completely uninformative and almost no information at all about any goings-on under the House of Gresham. Tom knew both Masters Black and Mora resided at House Gresham already, so why had the letter from Lucius' wife said anything different, he questioned quietly as his fingers found his chin, and massaged his jaw. And the phrasing, he mused, was affectionate and polite.

The Lord glanced downward at the blond seated in front of him, his hands seemingly poised in elegance and comfort atop his knees as he awaited Tom's verdict. Lucius gray eyes betraying none of the nervousness he felt, willing that Tom should somehow read more intelligence within the letter than what it actually contained rather that the banal droning's of the winter weather, and their sons' intellectual interests.

Tom pried his eyes from the letter, and looked silently at Lucius, placing the letter on the desk. For a moment, neither of them spoke until finally Tom broke the silence with a simple question.

"How do you find your wifes' affection, Lucius?" The blond Lord before him looked instantly puzzled, as though this were some manner of riddle.

"I –I beg your pardon?" He managed to stammer out, clearly misinterpreting the meaning and Tom rolled his eyes, giving a little impatient sigh.

"My meaning, Lucius, is how you find your wife's _demeanor,_ not her willingness to inviting you into her chambers." Lucius righted himself and cleared his throat meaningfully as he nodded.

"Indeed, my Lord." At that Tom rolled his head along with his eyes as he looked to the sun shining through the window and mused that it had seemed a long while since he had noticed how warm the light could be. Lucius had continue to sputter a moment as he had collected himself. "I find my wife friendly to her Lord in my requests of her." He managed to explain, leaving out that for her part, she neither spoke nor moved in any way when he approached her, causing him to usually have to handle her a little more forcefully than might be strictly necessary. He cleared his throat again, very lightly and fixed an imaginary wrinkle on his coat.

Tom exhaled sharply and leaned forward just slightly. "Do you find that she enjoys your company, Lucius?" His fellow Lord blinked in surprise at that.

"Company? You mean to speak together?" The look of incredulity across Lucius face held fast and Tom cocked his head in curiosity.

"Of course I mean 'do you speak together'. Lucius, what is your relationship with your wife?" Tom pressed in annoyance, and Lucius seemed to be lost as to what to say.

"I –I" He stammered for a moment, only to be prompted by Tom's hardening inquisitive stare. "My wife is dutiful. She had provided me my heir without complication and sees to it that my House is in order while I conduct my affairs as Lord of my lands." He said in a final huff. Tom drank this all in and considered his words carefully.

"Was your match a love-match, then?" He asked of his fellow, and Lucius finally broke his nervous composure and scoffed.

"Certainly not, sir." He said with confidence. "My wife was a fine lady of a noble House. The great House of Black. As much she was very fortunate to have my suit accepted. As a Lady, her duty is to me and mine, and my Heir. What need has a woman to a love of her own, when she beholden to duty of her Lord and Husband?" He said simply, as though these were a simple and irrefutable fact. The information ingrained into his very being. Tom waved his hand briefly as he spoke.

"So thus, it is not uncommon for a woman to be wed without being in love with her Lord, is this correct?"

In nodding his affirmation, Tom continued and stepped away from the desk and out around to the window. His thoughts whirling with implications from both the present conversation, and many years past. "Do you then, feel any affection for your wife?"

Lucius looked curiously upon his fellow Lord, piqued by the line of questioning now. "I suppose it could be true, for my part. I have no complaints upon my wife; her organization is impeccable, her bloodline pristine. She is not unpleasant to look upon."

Lucius' dispassionate answer was all Tom needed to understand fully what it was that Lucius meant; His wife was merely part of his Houses prosperity, and not a companion joined with for love or joy. From the sound of it as well, it seemed one that he felt no passion for. Tom nodded his understanding, a sign that he had his answer.

"Surely, in time, your own Lady shall be as dutiful as mine has been." Lucius commented offhandedly, causing Tom to jerk his head back to Lucius at the liberty. Their eyes met, and Lucius smiled, waving his hand casually. "You are a noble Lord, sir. You _will_ require and heir at some point." The look he was giving Tom was knowing, and subtly cheeky. Surprisingly, it made Tom's blood begin to boil behind his eyes, and he willed his hands to keep from balling up and smashing them against Lord Malfoy's smug façade of a face.

Instead he diplomatically attempted a grin. "Indeed you are right, Lord Malfoy." He agreed, adding as much congeniality into his tone as he could muster. "Let us hope that I am to find a wife as _agreeable_ as your own."

With Lucius' agreement, Tom retrieved the letter once more from the desk top by summoning it to him. "Now, let us convene once more to decipher your Lady's message."

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It was further into the afternoon than Tom would have preferred when Lucius had finally left. At Tom's _insistence,_ the letter his Lady wife had sent him had been left behind for further consideration.

Irritated still that, prudently, the letter itself contained no specifics about the Household activities outside the tutelage of her son (as well as a brief mention of the other pupils). What he _needed_ was some indication when the blasted hatching of those Dragon _worms_ would occur, and not some sermon of her spawns academic mediocrity.

Tom smoothed out the letter beneath his fingers on top of his desk, and read her words yet again. '….. _Which, by my own observations has accomplished so many great feats in such a short time…..'_

The Lord closed his eyes in frustration, ruminating over her meaning. _Gods damn this infernal and ignorant woman,_ he admonished silently. _Did she know nothing of espionage and subterfuge?!_

At that, Tom realized something significant and opened his eyes once more, reading over the Lady's words once more. ' _Though we are but guests here to the Gresham House, we find it most comfortable and inviting. The Lady Gresham is most gracious and kind to welcome us so warmly. I find her most agreeable, myself_.' His nostrils flared with an unknown emotion as he read on. ' _I am proud to report that your son and Heir has had a most rigorous education while warded within the House of Gresham. He has excelled magnificently under the tutelage of his Masters.'_

There. Tom's eyes focused plainly on the plural indication. His eyes breezed over the letter once more to confirm that, at no prior point did the Lady flesh out that there was more than one Master in attendance to the students. Yet here, in plain ink, she had confessed to multiple teachers dwelling within the House.

The Lord Gaunt leaned back against his chair and considered the subtle omission. Why leave such a detail out at all? Why weave such a falsehood to her Lord? Surely his own son had written him letters as well that would indicate whom was attending to their tutelage?

The realization dawned on him immediately that Lord Malfoy probably didn't care all that well to pay attention to which Masters were in attendance to his son. Furthermore, he hadn't mentioned anything specific about them at any prior point. Though, why was this the case, and why did it feel to Tom that it bore more examination?

His mind still whirling with ideas and possibilities, he leaned further back into his chair to contemplate, pressing his fingertips together beneath his chin in a steeple, his reverie of though was interrupted with the an intrusive rumbling which shook the ground beneath his castle for a moment. The man signed and sat up straighter at the reminder that just outside his doorstep, a vast and agitated monster lay in wait of the plans he had been meticulously laying.

From his seated vantage point, he could only spy the tops of two red and leathery wings that opened, stretched and folded themselves once again into a new position, which was followed by a sudden and graveling growl.

The Red shifted itself again and produced a trumpeting but low noise, continuing to disturb Tom's contemplation. The Lord groaned as he leaned forward to get a better vantage of what the Dragon was grumbling about to see that it had begun pacing back and forth across the side of the House, its head turned unwaveringly towards the stately dwelling as it turned and paced, turned again and paced. IT chuffed and growled lowly as it did so.

It was clear the Dragon had something bothering it. Largely, the beast spent its days lounging and rumbling from time to time, with the occasion in which it would spread its wings and enjoy some of the sun, casting fire to warm the ground beneath its body. The cold of winter did not reach this far South as much as it did for other noble lands during the winter months, but it did brings frosts and rains often, though the beast seemed unaffected largely by anything around it.

Finally exiting the structure and coming down the long walk to face it, the beast continued its impatient strolling, never losing focus on the man who approached.

 _ **You take too long to act, fleshling.**_ It hissed at him admonishingly as he drew nearer. _**Time is slipping too quickly now. We must ACT.**_ It insisted, annoyance and the buddings of rage rolling from it in waves. Tom was surprised that he could sense the emotional state of the creature so acutely, for he felt his own temper begin to rise in response.

Quelling himself, Tom opened his hands to his sides serenely. "Imbolc has not yet come to pass, Great One. While we know only temperate climates here, the Morvan Roves are so high that air is both scarce and the weather a veritable tempest of ill temperament." The Dragon snarled a roar and rolled its head and shoulders.

 _ **LIES! Excuses! How can a worm such as you dare to command me? You are too cautious when you should be fierce and bold.**_ It screamed at him. _**You play your little games with your meager fleshlings, all the while you yearn and pine for something that will never come to you.**_ Tom flinched at the insult, his hackles raising immediately at what this beast implied about his purposes. _**Use your magic to lay forth an assault, and you will ride upon me to obliterate our enemies in fire and death!**_ It hissed finally, panting with excitement as the ravages of bloodlust roiled within.

Tom could feel the magic rolling from the Dragon in great waves, tantalizing his senses as he envisioned himself astride in the air, the gale forces hard upon his body, but his magic singing within the fibers of his being as they enacted his glorious plans. It was an intoxicating notion, and the images that flashed behind his eyes were so vivid, that even he felt his mind recoil at the sheer savagery the Dragon wished to commit.

The mage took a steadying breath and brought his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "Be but patient yet, Great One." He managed to get out to the vast creature. "Time is still yet on our side, and the hatching not direly imminent. We need the young to be brought to the valley before we act, in true, otherwise we are destined for folly. The chicks will be vulnerable then, as will the riders." The Dragon was not pacified, but continued its brutal stare-down of him as it snarled, and paced twice again as it had, pausing periodically to roll the mage's words around in its mind.

"Remember that it was my magic which freed you, Great One. I would not have released you without having a proper understanding on what to expect with this process." The Dragon stilled immediately at Tom's statement, and lowered its massive and sharply-spiked head downward toward him, narrowing the yellow eyes dangerously at the perceived slight.

Without being able to gauge truly his own vulnerability, Tom hastily continued. "-Without you, though, I will be unable to exact my plan to its fullest, and thus I beg of you your patience. You have waited through uncountable years to get this far and we should expect to act in a matter of moons."

Assuaged but a little in his explanation, the great Dragon turned back to a final lap of walking before it turned its back on the Lord completely, looking over its shoulder to him far down below on the ground.

 _ **You test my patience, magic-wielder.**_ It growled finally. _**If you fail to produce, then make no mistake; I will strike out alone. No force you possess will be able to stop me.**_

The Lord nodded his understanding and with a final whipping of its great tail, the Red drew in a vast gulp of air to its chest before expelling a blighting burst of air so hot that the fire was nearly invisible. Scorching the ground in an arc it began a circling motion before it nestled down again to the ground.

Bearing witness to the ritual had become a common occurrence with this creature, Tom had found. The evidence of its enjoyment of a warmed place to nest had become evident in the landscape around his Keep in the form of dozens of dragon-sized ovals and circles of burnt ground. The once-green lawn had been burned down in so many places only patches of living foliage remained, like sparse hairs on a crone's chin.

Seeing the beast satisfied for the time, Tom took his leave back to his House to further prepare the spells he had been working out for the coming assault he still had to refine.

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She drew in a long, annoyed breath deep into her belly as she watched the fleshy mage walk away from her, leaving her to her thoughts and the earth she had warmed beneath her scaled and mighty body.

The tiny mage was proving himself to be a thorn in her side, and she grumbled her distaste for his patience and calm. The time to act was now! How could he not see? The sires were guarding their nest and the eggs ripe for plucking; it would be nothing at all to slice through the warm golden scaled bodies and use her own fires to stoke the rest of the incubations. She closed her eyes and let the heat within her rise until her scales glowed with sizzling heat. Her lipless jaw curved upward in glee as she beheld the warm and coppery-sweet scent of Dragon blood in her mind and she squeezed her claws together, their sharp edges scraping.

Her mage was a bit of a fool if he thought he could simply _ride_ her into the mountains of which he spoke and command her power from the crest of her shoulders. _She_ was no war steed, she was war itself. A God among Dragon-kind that would rain down fire from the skies, and burn to the ground any that stood in her path to capturing her prizes.

She rumbled contentedly again as she reached easily inside herself for the bonds that connected her to the mage's magic, and she played with them gently as though she were softly fingering the strings of a harp. Oh, how they would sing for her! She stilled herself carefully, acutely aware of how easily she could give away her secret should she continue to play with the bond that he had created when he broke her from the wards of her prison in the deadlands. It was lucky indeed that he did not understand what he had wrought upon himself when he freed her.

When it was time she would call upon these bonds masterfully, and take his magic for her own. She would rise victorious with her new power, and the light would fade slowly from his eyes as she consumed his power and his flesh. Her yellow eyes glowed hungrily at the thought of the tickling feeling of magic as it would roll over her tongue and into her fiery core.

Riszades raised her massive head, with her crown of spikes, as the queen she would become and took one last appraising look to where the mage had gone to hole up in his flimsy dwelling of pebbles and twigs and she seethed out one last rumble of pernicious and gleeful anticipation.

His blood would be ambrosia, she decided, as she lay her head back down and closed her eyes once again.

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Hope you all enjoyed this! Have you discovered my little secret about the Red yet? ;)


	38. Chapter 38

**Screw it. I was going to nitpick this chapter to death, but I'm just going to publish it. To hell with it. Thank you lovelies for your patience with my yo-yoing.**

 **As usual, the creative rights behind the characters in HP are owned by JKR, and not me. The story here is original, and certainly there are OCs peppered all over the place.**

 **Grovek26 – thank you for your review!**

 **Pgoodrichboggs – thank you as well! I always enjoy your observations.**

 **Chapter 38**

From the darkness all around him began the slow creeping of light. A golden and sparkling blanket eked up slowly into his consciousness in the darkness, gradually consuming the night in which he lay.

Tyt'o found himself blinked rapidly against the luminous golden light which surrounded him, and winced at how his pupils stubbornly refused to adjust as quickly as he wished. It wasn't even that it was such an intense brightness, it was the stark contrast of having his field of vision so immersed in the glow around.

He hissed as he forced himself to look upon his surroundings, finding himself erect. Confusion swarmed him when he heard the rustling of feet and breathing just near him, and he swayed as he jerked his head back and forth trying to locate the source of the being near him.

A warm hand clasp his bicep and before he could react, he heard a familiar voice.

"Brother?" Hermione asked sleepily. Her voice delicately hoarse from disuse.

"Sister?" He stammered out, and her hand slid down his arm to join in his hand. "Where are we?" He cracked open his eyes to see his sisters curling hair made into a wild mane, unbound and falling past her shoulders. Her eyes mimicked his in how narrowly they were open. "I was just sleeping." He stated, and yawned, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Aye," She commented. "As was I."

A cough from near them caused the pair to simultaneously look back over their left shoulder to see both Theo, and Draco standing near them. Both wiping at their eyes as they squinted and adjusted to the bright light.

Seeing her paramour, she immediately brightened, and feeling her brother jerk her hand gently while he positioned himself between the pair as she smiled shyly and looked away slightly as she fought a bit of blush creeping across her cheeks. Draco, similarly glanced to her and away.

"What in the Gods names are we doing here?" Asked Theo, stretching his back and shoulders as though he had just stood up from his nights rest. Tyt'o loosened his grip on his sister's hand and glanced back at her. The warm glow surrounding them seemed endless in any direction in which he looked, but the light source strong enough that it seemed to blur the lines around her, and their companions in a way that seemed almost…. Dream like?

He looked his sister in the eyes momentarily, and turned back to the area surrounding them. At first observation there was nothingness in any direction in which you looked. Though it seemed to be littered with floating little glistening sparkles hovering in the air all around, neither rising nor sinking.

"I don't know." Tyt'o confessed and moved to walk the area just slightly, and he took stock of his three fellow peers. They were all still dressed in their bed clothes. Light pants with strings to draw the waist and light linen shirts. Hermione wore a simple white shift that blessedly laced up to her collarbone, and covered at least a good portion of her shoulders.

Together Draco and Theo similarly took stock of their surroundings, and each other. Though Draco lingered his gaze while fighting against the corners of his mouth when he tried to determine if any light was showing through Hermione's bed clothes. The glow of their surroundings gave her skin an unworldly warmth about it, and he desired greatly to run his hands over the exposure of her shoulders, and down her arms. Perhaps feel her jawline, and touch her lips.

Theo cleared his throat and Draco pulled his stare away reticently, but his eyes left her last as he twitched a corner of his mouth up in a little smile for her. She returned it without considering whom their audience was at the moment.

The four remained close though they looked all around for any sign as to where they were, and why there were there together when they felt a vibration. It came up from beneath them, though it did not appear they were even standing upon the terra of the earth. Only a great field of never-ending glow and shimmering.

"What in Hades is that?" Draco asked lowly as the vibrating continued, traveling upward along their legs until it reached their trunks and consumed their limbs and minds. Both Draco and Theo shook their heads as though to rid themselves of the feeling, and as it increased Draco began to crumble under the intensity as he gripped his ears and a moan of confusion and discomfort left his mouth.

Witnessing such a sharp decline in him, Hermione reacted immediately. She grabbed at his wrists with her hands and held fast to him as he bowed his back inward in a fetal gesture as she began to speak lowly to him.

"Breathe, Draco. Breathe." She assured him softly. "Shhhhh, it will not harm you. Do not fight it."

Theo had fallen nearly to his knees in the same pattern, and Tyt'o came to his side in aid of his friend. He put ahis hand on his shoulder and knelt with him. "Let it pass through you, Theo." He instructed as Theo had reached fully to the floor, nearly crumpled with the sheer weight of the feeling. He couldn't hear, couldn't see, and it felt so _heavy_ all around him. "Relax your shoulders." Theo shook his head and Tyt'o made a gentle 'shushing' to him. "Take a deep breath Theo. Deep into your belly, not just your chest." He glanced to his sister who identically whispered to Draco as she supported his chest with a hand near his heart.

Gingerly he lay his hand at his friends shoulder and to the youth's chest and supported him from crumbling any further as a gurgling came from his companion. His own body, so used to the sensation all around him, was attuned to the feeling of Dragon call and he had no such adverse feedback from it. But their two fellow riders, it seemed, had never experienced such a sensation. It could be more than overwhelming if you were unprepared for it, and it seemed Theo specifically had found it hard to cope through.

As for Tyt'o, he felt within him a sensation that practically _sung_ to him through his bones and muscle. Not quite a noise, and not just merely a feeling either, it was a phenomenon explicit only to a Dragon Sire.

"Breathe Theo." He said, stronger now, as his friend struggled and gasped.

"I –I" Theo chocked out as he sunk farther down, and Tyt'o pulled him closer to himself and used the muscles of his legs to begin lifting him. To force his chest to open up. He closed his eyes and created a connection between them to gently calm Theo through his growing panic.

"You are well, friend. You are safe." He assured him. "Trust me Theo." Theo's gasps began to come less desperately, and his muscles let go a little bit more and more as he tried to deepen each of his breaths. "Good, that's it." Tyt'o encouraged as his friend slowed his breathing, and he could feel the panic in his countenance recede more and more.

As Theo regained his feel, Tyt'o lessened his hold progressively, watching over him carefully as Theo straightened and began to stand once more.

The vibrations ebb and flow had never ceased, but soon even Theo was able to calm himself to the point where he was breathing and standing. Though he was slouched and his eyes still closed as he tried to adjust to the assaulting feeling all around him.

"That. The. Fuck." He breathed out inelegantly, catching the attentions of Draco and Hermione as well.

Still close to him, Tyt'o hesitantly placed a hand to his friends shoulder. "It is the Dragon Call, Theo." The young heir of the House of Nott shook his head slowly. "It is a summoning." He offered and looked back at Hermione and Draco. His arm had come around his sisters shoulders and she stood close to him with her hand still on his chest. Though they were facing each other now, drinking each other in while they spoke in gentle murmurs. Tyt'o scowled at them and Theo coughed, calling his attention away.

"What is it summoning supposed to do?" He demanded crossly. "Kill you?"

"The Calling should only be for one rider and one Dragon." Tyt'o supplied, only to have Hermione interrupt him.

"Today is Imbolc." She said simply, as though it provided an explanation.

"Why is that important?" Draco asked still lost in the copper of her eyes as she spoke, her attention fully on him as well, as though he were the one she spoke to.

"The first stirrings of spring. The time for purification in anticipation of a year's new life." She said gently, turning to Tyt'o when she spoke her final word. Realization writ across her face, and he felt it dawn upon him as well.

"Of course." He said as well. "The birthing of the spring lambs, and when the ewes first bear milk." He nodded then in agreement. "It makes sense."

"None of this makes sense!" Theo exclaimed. "What in burning hell are we doing here? Last I remember I had taken to bed for the night. Is this some kind of a dream?" Hermione and Tyt'o glanced at each other following Theo's outburst, exchanging a knowing glance at how neither Draco nor Theo could possibly understand what events were transpiring.

It was at that second that the now-acceptable force around them which vibrated and shook them down to their cores increased and sharpened fiercely, so much that even Hermione and Tyt'o both winced and cowed a moment in response, as Draco and Theo did as well.

Hermione gasped as her body buckled at the pressure within her mind, and brought her eyes up to see where her brother stood. Still wrapped in Draco's embrace, she moved to shuffle herself as the pulsation in her ears grew louder and louder. More magnanimously than she had ever heard before, shaking her body as though it was seizing.

She reached her hand out to her brother, still holding to Draco as she groaned in discomfort. The glow around them began to brighten intensely. She could feel Draco's arms now both holding onto her, keeping her wrapped up as they both suffered under the oppression of noise surrounding him. Her arm still waved out from her side trying to find her sibling until a familiar palm reached her own and held on.

Despite the increasingly bright light all around them, she squinted one last time before clamping her eyes shut to see her brothers face one more time, and he hers as the light consumed the four of them. Draco's warm breath in the crook of her neck had quickened in panic as she winced with the beginnings of a cry that came from deep within her.

Just before oblivion overtook her, she heard him say softly in her ear; "I love you."

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The warmth pattern of breath brushed over her cheek had faltered just she opened her eyes and stirred. Her head came up as soon as her eyes opened, and she looked down at the broad chest she been nestled into. His arms still reached around her affectionately, even in sleep together. After such a long time separated he desired her close to him at all times he could. His lengthening dark hair had mingled with her great mane as well, left unbound to weave through their limbs as they slept.

Loren's eyes were just as open and alert as her own, and Ursa looked deep into their depths. Her husband touched her cheek with a gentle gesture at her wide and wild eyes. He nodded in affirmative to the ebbing feeling of anticipation and dread, just before he leaned up and kissed her lips tenderly.

It was then that the faint sound of a Dragons trumpeting, from distances almost too great to fathom, was heard in the night.

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The darkness she woke to was staggeringly painful for her when she opened her eyes, as she had been plunged into the shadows suddenly out of the bright light. The softness of her bed surrounded her and the comfort of her pillows she lay her head upon were soft against the skin of her cheek.

Without lifting her head she stared at the top of her bed canopy blankly, the events of her dream fresh within her mind. The faintest whisper crept from her lips in the inky blackness.

"It is time."


	39. Chapter 39

**Hooray, there are some new followers! Thank you for joining me (us?)!**

 **Chapter 39**

The sharp slamming of doors against their frame was not how Narcissa had anticipated waking. At first, she groggily mused if the noise was simply a one-off occurrence, and she would be able to sink back into the comforting arms of sleep once again. It wasn't until the subsequent slam of another door –or was it something larger? –That drove her so far from her nightly repose that she could no longer simply ignore it.

She was circumspect to confess it, but the House of Gresham had proved quite soothing at nights, what with a light wind at night to create subtle humming sounds through the boughs of the coniferous trees, and the intensity of the dark night. Her weeks here had been restful at night, she found, despite that it was a strange setting for her and not her true home. This sudden and drastic change from that mollifying environment was a bit jarring so early in the morning.

To add to the commotion, voices had picked up as they ran back and forth through corridors, footsteps pattering all about in disruptive and ill-begotten noise. The Lady sighed and stretched as she began to open her eyes and work on unfolding her person from the warmth of her bed.

It didn't take long for her to attend to her morning toilette activity. Feeling refreshed and donning a clean dress from her armoire, she opened the door to take appraisal of the bustle in the hallways of the House.

Anticipating a brouhaha to be taking place in the hallways, she was surprised to find that following the disturbance from sleep, the corridors were entirely empty. Closing her door behind her she walked out in search of those responsible for the earlier clamor only to find that she seemed to be the only person present. And save for an overturned chair, which she herself turned to rights, there was no evidence of any person.

Descending the stairs downward, it was at this point that she again hear a disquiet of many voices, all speaking at once. Some over the others, and some without cease. As she neared the smaller of the two Halls –the one she was the private dining Hall for the family Gresham, the voices became clearer.

"-The fresher dried stores. I want each of them separately to have their own wrapping, and equal portions." A brief pause with a murmured response to the request. "A valid point. Perhaps more meat, then, for the boys that for Hermione." The voice was feminine, and of the familiar tenor of Ursa Gresham. "But do not short her. Female, she may be, she will still need the nourishment." She insisted finally.

Narcissa rounded the doors to the Hall to find the Lady Gresham bidding several domestics on their way, their arms heavy with bundles. Her dark hair pulled back haphazardly –an uncharacteristic display, given how poised the woman seemed to maintain herself. Her dress was of a dark bronze that grew mossy where the shadows struck it. Her brow creased with a thoughtful frown as she absentmindedly counted on her fingers, even though she continued to wring her hands.

The motion caught her attention, and Ursa Gresham caught sight of her House's guest, and her eyes alight excitedly. Her hands reaching out towards Narcissa impetuously as she approached her, taking up the fellow Lady's hands with her own.

"Oh! I am so thankful you have woken!" She said with her nervous excitement. Narcissa nodded hesitantly.

"Indeed, it seems that the House staff conspired this morning to see me awake before my time." She mentioned icily. Ursa seemed not to read into it all that much, however.

"My Lord Husband had them up as soon as Tyt'o and Hermione woke us. 'Round about an hour before the dawn." She squeezed Narcissa's hand as she spoke and Narcissa bit back the desire to pull her hands away, back towards the safety of her person. She could feel the corner of her lip begin to rise in a bit of a sneer at the unwelcomed, unendorsed contact. Lady Ursa, it seemed, was completely oblivious to her discomfort it seemed.

The Lady's bronze eyes, a color Narcissa herself had initially thought to be plain and common, she noticed were layered with subtle threads of gold. The same tone as the precious metal, to be certain, if Narcissa's ancestral heirlooms were anything to compare it by. They shone brighter than Narcissa had seen them before.

Breathless almost, Ursa smiled gently and squeezed her fellow Lady's hands in a comforting gesture. "It is time." She confessed. "The children have been Called."

Narcissa heard the words, but for the briefest of moments the meaning didn't sink in. Realization must have crept slowly across her face because Ursa responded in kind by deepening the connection between their hands, though the fellow Lady had forgotten her own objection now.

"Truly." She breathed in a statement, and not a question. Ursa nodded solemnly.

"Indeed truly." She agreed and nodded her head towards the exterior hallway. "The Staff have been preparing provisions for hours for the four." Ursa maintained the hold with one hand, leading Narcissa out from the empty Hall and into the corridor outside. "My Loren attends them in the lee of the Keep as Horses are saddled for them." Ursa's decorum as a Lady had slipped in her excitement, speaking of her husband in the affectionate term, rather than by his title, left Narcissa uncomfortable to a degree having had seriously limited interaction with the Lord as a Lady wife of another House. Not to mention a House with which they were not affectionately aligned.

As Ursa hurried Narcissa alongside her, she began to feel a ball of unease fill her belly. _What was it she should have expected?_ She wondered quietly as she passively allowed Ursa to continue to lead the two along. _This was, after all, the endgame of bringing her son here, wasn't it?_ Uncharacteristically she found herself begin to toy with her lower lip between her teeth as her nervousness grew. _It was time now, but what did that really mean?_ The Lady attempted to regain her composure with a sure voice, and spoke finally. "What is it that they must do now?"

Ursa didn't break pace as she spoke, nor did she release Narcissa's hand.

"Now they must go in search of the nest." She explained, and the rest of Narcissa's patience melted away. She scowled thoughtfully as she considered.

"Isn't the nest plotted?" Ursa shook her head in the negative.

"Nay. The Dragons build the nest when they retreat to roost. High into the highest part of the mountains they can go to find a desirable place, but there is no point in asking where they will go. No Dragon Sire would deign to speak of it." She smiled gently, so as to reassure her. "Dragon Sires are _fiercely_ protective of their mates, and of their clutches. Once the female has settled and the eggs are lain the Sire might return to speak of the success. But that is all he will do. Beyond that, it is at risk of death that a man go in search of a nest before the Sires are ready to receive him."

The Lady Malfoy shook her head. "That seems odd to be so private when the Dragons are supposed to be so inclusive. Your family has rode them for generations; why don't they just nest here?"

Ursa nodded considerately. It was a fair question, after all. "I must confess," she said with unexpected shyness, "that in all my years as the Lady of the House, this is my first hatching. Everything I know, I know because of the tales Loren told me." She smiled sweetly as the pair had finally spied the group of four pupils, and her husband at the very end of the cavernous entry they approached. Ursa dropper her voice lower to keep her words private. "When we were first courted, I was so fascinated by their presence, and Loren was only too eager to tell me tales of Dragon lore." She chuckled. "I believe he thought it would help his suit all the more." Narcissa couldn't help herself.

"Did it, then?" Her tone was tinged with bitterness. It was no hidden fact that Ursa and Loren were besotted with the other, still after so many years of matrimony. Though she had heard whispers in her time there that things had not always remained so harmonious, she always noted the lingering glances, and when the Lord murmured into his wife's ear, bringing to her face a dazzling smile. She could compare nothing of her own experiences as a married Lady to such a display.

Not really hearing the soured tone as Ursa had only eyes now for the sight of her children, and her husband, she nodded offhandedly. "I suppose it may have." She said whimsically. Narcissa had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. A lady did not succumb to such debased gestures, and she maintained her composure.

"The staff arrange the horses now to bear the children as far into the mountains as they dare to take them." She continued. "It will save them energy until they can go no further. They'll take their provisions and continue on foot until they find the nest." Ursa gave a nod of her chin towards her Lord. "Loren is imparting his own wisdom to them for their arrival."

The two women had finally joined up with the motley group. Their appearances were rough; clearly woken at a start and prodded into dressing. Tyto's normal silky hair was ruffled as he combed his hands though the tresses that had grown past his shoulders, pulling it back behind him. As the four listened to Loren attentively, Hermione took over for him pulling it into a queue at the nape of his neck, removing a leather strap from her mouth as she focused her eyes on her father, wrapping his hair at the same time. When it was contained the pair switched their places and her performed the same favor to her as well.

From behind, Theo and Draco listened with rapt attention, their arms crossed over their chests defensively. Theo nibbled a thumb distractedly as he listened as well, while her own son stood as still as stone, his eyes glancing to her only once to acknowledge she had arrived.

Loren Gresham concluded himself with a smile to the four, and he reached first to Hermione and Tyt'o, cupping each of their jaws affectionately with one of his hands to each of his children. The skin at the corner of his dark eyes crinkled with his gesture and he looked at them each in turn before bringing them into his embrace; one wrapped in each of his strong arms like they were still the little children he wanted them to remain.

"You have made me so proud." He spoke softly. "Be not afraid. This path for your journey is in your blood. When the time comes, you will know what to say, and what to do." He released them, blinking back tears in his brown eyes. "Keep each other safe."

The siblings nodded solemnly as Tyt'o returned his affection with a perfunctory light slap to his father's shoulder. In their closeness, Loren felt himself taken aback at how, suddenly, his own son now stood taller than he did. How he had become a man while Loren had been busy attending to things he'd thought were important. How the babyish appearance of his son's face had all but melted away to reveal a handsome youth who burgeoned into that of a young man. He touched his son's cheek one final time before Tyt'o stepped back, and Loren looked to his daughter.

Her eyes shone with excitement, and anticipation. The color so familiar and completely identical to her brother, and he sighed before he took her cheeks in both of his palms and lay upon her brow a tender kiss. As she smiled he found himself fighting a growing constriction within his throat that threatened to open the flood of tears from his eyes, for she too had blossomed, it seemed, into a woman before he was ready for her to.

Nevertheless, there they were; his two precious children, at the final precipice of their adulthood. And here he stood at that moment to give them one last gentle push into the beyond at the onset of their greatest odyssey.

Stepping away, he closed in on the two wards he had accepted, most begrudgingly, into his Home, and into the private lives of his cherished family. For despite his misgivings and the various fallouts he had still yet to overcome, they too had become fond to him.

His gaze steady and serious, he offered a hand first to Theo, who took it without hesitation. Though he felt surprised at the gesture the Lord offered him, and looked unexpectedly to Ursa for permission as he did. What he saw then caused his heart to skitter in a way he could not identify, for her beautiful bronze eyes shone with tears that had welled up there. Her hands gripped in front of her face as the pride she felt for all of them simply could no longer be contained.

He smiled then. First to Ursa, and then to Loren, who returned the gesture with a praising expression. It had not escaped him how his wife had taken the young man beneath her wing. How he saw her care of him evident in the conversations they had. In years past, he might have misinterpreted the gestures she offered, perhaps assumed it to be of an impertinent nature, or an impropriety. But the way Theo smiled to his wife had never been laced with lust or with a love he felt should have been suspect. The young man had never known a mother to call his own, and being immersed in a motherly affection had given him encouragement for his a part of his personality to surface where before he had been so hesitant and doubtful.

It was then to Draco he turned, his hand extended in an overture never presented before and the young man squared his shoulders as he accepted it and thus completed their goodbyes. Ursa had finally released Narcissa's hand at some point during the display and as the Lady Gresham inserted herself into the small group to bid her own goodbyes, Draco turned to face his mother.

He smiled softly to her, almost shy to express himself while under scrutiny from his companions and the Lord and Lady. She extended her hand to him to break the hesitation that had built between the pair and she squeezed him encouragingly. She smiled genuinely at him.

"You have done so well." She whispered and he returned her smile. There was so much she wanted to say to him; truly there had been almost no time that they had been able to spend with the other exclusively with the rigors of training and practice since his mother had arrived. And while she did not begrudge any of it, for in all truth as she witnessed herself it had been hard work indeed that he toiled through. Thought now as she faced him at the onset of his journey into the wilds of the mountains, she felt herself begin to panic.

Seeing the rise in her emotional state, Draco took a small step forward to close the gap between them and drop his voice low. "I will be safe, mother." He promised. "For all the things we thought they would be-" He glanced back to the four Gresham's who huddled together with Theo included, all speaking quietly. "They have prepared me most meticulously." He took her other hand as well and squeezed them in his own, his eyes meeting hers. "We will all keep each other safe on the journey."

While Narcissa stared at the face of the child she had undoubtedly given birth to, as he stood now as a man, she realized that the last vestiges of his spoiled and petulant youthful attitude had all been stripped away to reveal in its place a man of conviction and loyalty. A man she found herself unconfident that she knew fully, but that one who seemed eager to make her proud, and do what was right. And for that she was still thankful. She cupped his cheek delicately with her hand and conceded a final smile.

"Such a surprise you are, my dearest one." She whispered, and reached up to kiss his cheek. "I know you will succeed."

He gave her hands one final squeeze as the families grooms had brought up four large and sturdy horses. Each were adorned with packs which attached to their saddled, filled to their brims. And each a blanket cover about their bodies that lay beneath the saddle. A flap extended over the top of each leg that was loosely tied towards the inside. Each animal seemed to sense the eagerness of their rider, for each of them made their own little noises in anticipation of being brought out from the barn for use once again. These cold winter months had proved more sporadic when it came to horseback riding, and the mounts had gotten a bit restless in that time.

Each of the four mounted easily, now all familiar an unafraid to set out by themselves. The morning sun had finally begun to make its ascension earnestly over the mountain tops, as it peeked its dazzling rays into the valley of their Home.

As Narcissa watched her son mount his horse with the same kind of ease as his peers, sharing smiles and easy conversation as the four of them made to begin their exit from the safe walls of the Bailey, and the House of Gresham, she felt a sadness begin to seep into her. The long years she had lived since the day he was born flashed by in her memories. Holding his bundled little body when he was a mewling newborn, crying for her breast. How his delightfully tiny arms would scissor when his running was still only really a series of controlled falls. The first baby tooth he had lost. The last time he had come to her bed when he was afraid of the darkness in his room. His first successful transfiguration by magic. When she was able to finally look him in the eyes without looking down to him anymore. All of it came crashing in all around her mind, and she chocked back a sob by covering her mouth.

There before her was the fruit of every labor she had ever labored for, and it was both glorious and heartbreaking.

As each of the younglings moved farther away on their strolling horses, she continued to mentally commit herself the resolves of her purpose. For now that he was gone, she was utterly alone in this House. A House that was no friend to her own, and certainly not to that of her Lord Husband.

She managed a smile when she saw how her son slowed his animal down to walk astride the Young Gresham girl. Such a plain thing Narcissa had thought her when she first lay eyes upon her. But as the girl beamed at her son, Narcissa saw a radiant excitement that was unshielded and pure. That affection and love for her son was without consequence, or agenda.

While it still felt as though her heart would surely break once more with him absent for her days, she breathed slowly as she fought to compose her expression and put to rights her mental state. It was still early in the day, and she would have to write a letter to her _Husband_ to mention something of this. She smiled deviously. _Or at least she would within a few days._ Certainly it seemed that a little delay should not have any real ill effects.

Loren and Ursa stood together with their backs to Narcissa, their arms wrapped around each other in a most tender and exposing fashion. One that was absolutely considered improper for nobles of their status. They spoke in softened tones, and used words of affection to each other. When Loren leaned to his wife's cheek to kiss a lonely tear that had appeared, Narcissa found that she could take no more of the distasteful display, and turned to make her leave.

As she returned from the direction in which the Lady Gresham had pulled her along, there, leaning against the stone wall watching the whole scene as it had unfolded, stood the Master Rune Mora.

The Lady pinched her lips together as she approached to pass by, and yet Rune's eyes had met her own and refused to break the gaze. Unwilling to back down first Narcissa kept walking until she finally passed her by. She stiffened uncomfortably at the way the woman looked at her. How she dared to stare at her, just as boldly as she would were she a man.

She could hear the Masters footsteps behind her own, and she glanced back in annoyance to see that the woman had fallen in step behind her. Rune smirked at her briefly and Narcissa scoffed and looked ahead again as she made her way back in through the halls and towards the main stairs to return to the family Hall in hopes that some food might be present. Despite the abrupt change in company for the day, her body still needed sustenance.

As she'd entered the Hall, Rune had followed as well. Her steps light and there was no conversation that the Master offered. The presence made her wary, and Narcissa was growing irritated. Though for what reason exactly, she wasn't even certain.

With great fortune the domestic staff had concocted a few dishes that were brought to the table soon after, and Narcissa _pointedly_ refused to look up at her table companion. The events of being disturbed the other night still living in her consciousness. She unreasonably over-examined that night several times since that point as well, desperate to know whether or not the renowned Master had heard her outburst from the outside Hall.

She wagered a flickering look towards her to see that Rune was not looking in her direction, but instead attending to her plate calmly. Though as Narcissa's eyes darted away, Rune sensed the change in atmosphere and too glanced to her dining companion.

Back and forth the two danced as such for a moment or so before Narcissa finally let out an exacerbated noise and lay her cutlery to each side of her plate with a slight noise. "What is it that you want from me?" She demanded.

Rune froze in place, a bite of food still on her fork that had not made it her mouth yet. She raised an eyebrow in question at the woman. "Not sure I understand what you mean, Lady." Narcissa had had enough, and rolled her eyes most indecorously.

"I have had enough with your little _smiles,_ and your polite nods. Your little glances. All of it." She sat up straight, in a commanding pose. "Leave me be and stop bothering me."

The Master very carefully replaced her fork upon her plate as she listened to Narcissa's chiding tirade and plucked up a hot brew which had been provided for the meal. She leaned back into the chair as she'd watched the Lady work herself up through the little outburst and she considered her words carefully before she spoke.

"I know not of what you speak now, for you made yourself quite clear. I have no designs for you, for I am no fool. I am not such that I pursue that which shows no interest." Narcissa made to scoff as she gripped her napkin, but Rune continued. "I will not apologize for myself. I am who I am, and I look upon women the same way I do men. If you are discomforted in being treated as an equal, I cannot help that." The Master shifted in her seat, allowing her forearms to come to rest upon the edge of the table in a brazenly masculine gesture as she leaned forwards. "I am no bastard of a man who would haunt your every step until you surrendered to him."

The Lady Malfoy flinched at the statement, affronted by the implication and began to sputter out a biting reply. Rune held her hand up as she set her drink down, and rose to her feet. "No matter Lady, I will take my leave as it is clear you cannot stomach quiet company." The Master's blue and gray eyes bore down on her from where she had stood. "I bid you a good day."

Walking out with no further statement, Narcissa was left at the table alone and in a now-silent room. Rune's words swimming about in her mind. Had she imagined it? Was it truly nothing for her to take offense to? She seemed to have deeply offended the woman, and though she knew she shouldn't ponder on it, she found that she too had lost her appetite.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

Narcissa tapped her index finger along her lower lip pensively. She even closed her eyes briefly to try to clear her mind of the day's events as she hunkered over the book in her lap looking out the window she sat at.

The last two days following the abrupt departure of her son and his three companions had been somber for the House. At first, it had seemed that the individual parents would be able to pass it off lightly, and without the burdens of their worries to weigh them down, but she had been wrong.

Following her outburst at the Master Mora and her now subsequent avoidance of the Lady, Narcissa had found that even the Gresham's had largely taken to themselves and each other outside of meals in the comfortable little dining Hall that they visited. Uncertainty was painted on their brows and emanated from their collective silences each time she saw them, and she knew this well because it mirrored her own.

Today had been the first time that Ursa had asked her, in a strikingly soft way, to join her to read in the family's library, which Narcissa had accepted. Now, here they subsisted in a quiet that seemed heavily pregnant with fears unvoiced; the Lady Gresham in one chair, and The Lady Malfoy in another.

But Narcissa found that even now, she could not focus on the words in her book, and her mind took to wandering and speculation as the days seemed to creep by.

It was in this distraction that Narcissa found herself gazing curiously at the clouds that had begun to roll down from the high mountain peaks with speed and violent gusts that it occurred to her how dangerous this toil would become. Never taking her eyes from the dreadsome sight, she closed her volume with a dull thud and rose to close the distance between herself and the glossy panes. From behind her, a tiny gasp escaped the lips of Ursa as well, and she found herself joined by the fellow lady as the terrifying sight before them unfolded.

Her icy blue eyes darted nervously to Ursa's, and she found that the Lady's unspoken concerns met her own. Heedlessly, the aloof woman reached out in a tactlessly connecting gesture and slid her hand into Ursa's as she fought against the prickling of tears that dared to spring forth.

Ursa found that she could not even offer a comforting smile, but she gripped Narcissa with equal strength in the grasp as they, together, looked out as the blizzard came crashing down around the peaceful little valley, each praying to the Gods they held in esteem that their children should remain safe, and intact through this awful journey.

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Despite the chill in the air from the raising altitude, and the snow-covered path that the horse navigated carefully, Tyt'o found that the cold had not yet permeated him to the point of discomfort. For the journey the four had been clothed in fur-lined long coats with hoods to cover their heads as well, for the higher air was wicked and cold.

Regardless of the recent closeness the four youths had grown into, a ponderous silence persisted over their travel. Instead of voices and laughter, as they had all come to expect and offer during their normal riding routines, all that was to be heard was the jingling of riding tack as the dull thuds of hoofs was all that could be heard in the static of silence around them. The path into the mountains had started first through the forests that they had come to some familiarity with over the past months, but in the dead of winter the pathways had become hidden under snow so deep it could reach to his hip in some places.

The unnamed leader of the group, he had assumed the head of the trail himself, with his sister in position behind him, and Draco and Theo following behind. The Gresham siblings were more familiar with the terrain than the other two, and being the eldest the onus of leading fell to him.

He swallowed hard with anticipation. It has finally come. He thought excitedly, his eyes watching all around through the thick layers of tree trunks they passed, memorizing the snow-covered boughs of the pine trees, and the barren snow-splattered branches whose twisting prongs resembled the gnarled fingers of a wizened old crone. Since they'd been mere babes, their parents had strived to prepare them for the possibility that they two would embark upon this sacred pilgrimage, and the fates has conspired to see it a reality.

It was enough to make him positively giddy. But by the fluttering feeling of nervous energy floated around in his belly, like the tickling of birds' wings, he understood as well how treacherous the path they undertook would be.

The shameful truth was that even they did not know the exact location of the nest. They had been set upon this with only the Call to guide them, and their magic to bolster their chances of safety for a successful campaign. There was no guidance save their parents loving support and kind words. He didn't have to question if their companions were aware that they were, almost completely, traveling without any specific direction. And in a time when winters last wrathful tempers would rage against its eventual abdication to the warming of springtime.

From behind him, the sound of hooves plodding the ground interrupted the silence around them, and he turned his mind to other things. From his isolated position at the head of the small caravan he gulped back his doubts surrounding his capabilities as the leader. Though the questions he had of himself remained: Would he be brave enough to be able to face Goldoduur down as an invader into the sacred place? Would they be greeted kindly, or with trepidation? Suspicion? A Dragon possessed by his territorial rages could be dangerous and deadly.

Admittedly he had always felt that he, between the pair of siblings, was the one least intimately connected with their Dragons when compared to his sister. Her intuition was so finely and naturally honed that her actions and reactions were often instinctual. He himself he found that he was forced to rely on the tutelage and knowledge of his father and the assurances of his mother and sister. It was often infuriating, though he would never cop to that. Females, it seemed, were more intuitive to Dragons in many ways that he would be unable to achieve. Though with having been weaned from his mother's breast to the magical presence of a Dragon, he was more sensitive still, it was not to the same degree as his sister.

The tall young man turned to look behind him at the trio trailing behind him, each themselves bundled nicely against the elements they would come to face through this trial. Their hoods shielded their faces and their spines bowed lightly forwards to ward away the chill surrounding him.

Their two interlopers, had evolved over the months evolved into companions –and even friends. They had been though trials that were never supposed to be a precedence for them. And yet they had prevailed, and withstood the hardships of training. The lack of initial welcome into the House, and the community within notwithstanding. They traveled with them as brothers now –Tyt'o bit back a smirk as he turned back to face forward again and bit his chuckle inward. _Draco,_ it appeared, _really would_ be a brother, soon enough. And with how his mother's affection had extend to encompass Theo under the wing of her maternal urges, in one way or another they were to destined to be inextricably bound to their family. Through affection, marriage, and the bonding of their lives and magic to those of the Dragons they quested to find, they were a part of their lives now, whether they wished it or not.

Despite his playful musings and the humor they bought to him now, Tyt'o turned his focus to the forest, and the path he intended to navigate. The trees were providing a shelter of sorts against the winter elements, but they would eventually rise above them in their gradual ascent. As they reached the steep and dangerous routes that led them upward, the horses would have to be left behind as the paths would be too sharp for the cumbersome equines.

He patted his mare affectionately, knowing that she would have to find her way to shelter in the valley below without him when that time came. Though he couldn't predict what would happen as the animals found their way home, his father bred them for their sure-footing and their even tempters. For certainly they wished to return to the comforts of home as greatly as he himself would as well.

Cutting through his internal monologues, Tyt'o was distracted when he realized that even through the inconsistent protection of the branches and boughs above them, soft flakes of snow had begun to fall all around them, and the light from day had slowly diminished as the sun made to see them to sleep for the night.

It was time they found a place suitable to shelter them, and the horses for the night. It was only their second day up the mountains and in order to give the animals a chance at a return trip it was pertinent that their riders not push them to the very brink.

"We make camp for the night as soon as we find a place proper for the horses as well." He announced, turning his body fully around so those behind him could hear his voice, and was met by the nodding of the three heads from beneath their hoods.

He sighed as he flexed his chilled hands around the reigns and began to scan the area surrounding them.

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Darkness fell on the second day of their ascent into the mountain range, and further away from the presence of family and safety. The night was calm and the winds more gentle and breeze-like than was typical of the altitude and time of year. The four travelers counted it as a blessing and superstitiously mentioned nothing on the subject, lest their fortunes change.

The night sky was clear and sprinkled with the light of stars above them; the clouds of distant nebulas like fluffy bats of unspun colored wools marked the heavens in a great arc through the twinkling stars. Despite the beauty of their surroundings, the four pupils found that they had little to talk about, as each took to themselves in deep thought and seriousness now, with the pressing knowledge of what lay ahead of them.

It was when they had all taken to their bedrolls, bellies filled with dried meats and bread for their meal, where they had settled into the blankets over their clothed bodies. Tyt'o had nestled himself next to Hermione at the center of the group; when they were clearing the area of stones and debris, Tyt'o had caught Draco's eye when he lay his bedroll directly next to hers. She was the smallest of their crew and without discussion he knew she would be better protected from the elements between himself and one of their fellows. So long as that wasn't Draco.

The Heir to the House of Malfoy didn't bother to allow his annoyance get the best of him; At this juncture, it was all but spoken aloud what his interest in Hermione involved. He recognized that if _he_ had a sister, he would protect her similarly as well.

Draco tried to clear his mind of his musings around his sweetheart to focus on the tasks of situating their sleeping shelter, but from the corner of his eye he found himself acutely aware that she had taken up the hilt of fashioning two long poles to create a tent against the mountain they butted up against. It wasn't until he realized that his attention had been noted by her brother that he found himself wordlessly admonishing his uncharacteristic brazenness, and lack of subtlety.

The task took little enough time, and soon the four settled into their own meager beds beneath a lowly hung tent, their small fire dwindling slowly as the kindling burned into ashes and allowed the darkness to permeate the area once again.

As Hermione curled up against her brother, she offered a watery smile as she closed her eyes. At the side of the mountain there was an indentation protected from where the winds could fully reach them, and the horses, that had managed to avoid any real snowfall. This is where they had made their small encampment for the night.

With her frame more slight than the three boys she traveled with, Hermione was grateful to be surrounded at least by their bodies as well. The space was small, but not constrictive, and the silence between everyone had been heavy through the last 48 hours of travel as the reality had finally sunk it.

It wasn't for several minutes that Theo's voice finally broke the calm with a question.

"How long will it be until we reach the nest?" His voice was hushed, but the mystery had hung in the air since the first day he had arrived in the House, and there had seemed no proper moment to ask it before.

Hermione nuzzled her face out from the bedroll to uncover her mouth, even though she curled herself tighter. In the darkness they could not see each other, only exchange conversation as the fire had reduced itself to embers and coals now. She sighed before responding.

"There is no certainty because of the conditions on the mountain." She offered. "If storms come, we might be delayed until they pass."

Theo mulled this over in him mind. The other two lay quietly as well as the conversation went on. "What is the direction we seek? How will we know it?" The ambiguity now seemed unnecessary and unsettling, anymore. But being lost in a dangerous mountain range while searching blindly for a mythical occurrence had similarly begun to border on idiocy. He'd understood, to a degree, why it hadn't been discussed with them prior to this point. The assurance of secrecy had been so paramount that the Gresham's had avoided any topic where the actual journey to the Dragon nest had been concerned. But now, in the mountains, days upon a treacherous mountain path into the unknown, it felt right to ask finally.

And it seemed that the Gresham siblings concurred as well, for after a brief pause before responding, Theo heard the faintest of whispering back and forth between Tyt'o and Hermione before he registered that she had sat up fully, her head nearly up to the cloth ceiling of their makeshift tent.

"Do you remember Dragon Tears, Theo?" Theo nodded as he responded positively, even though no one could see him. "Do you remember the feel of the magic, when you drank the waters of the falls? The feel of the Dragon magic?" He whispered his grasp of this, too, and she sighed once more as she paused.

"This magic, it –it is not endemic to you. You two are outsiders to us; you were not raised here." She said plainly. "By drinking from the waters, and taking the rites of our Gods, you have been baptized in it. In eating the food, and bathing in the water; all of it is influenced by those same magics. It is how you came to hear the Calling." Her voice got so quiet is was nearly inaudible when she whispered out her last sentence. "You're all but blood to us now. A –At least the Dragons will see you so."

The statement hung in the air heavily in Draco's ears as he tuned in acutely to what she had said. _'All but blood'? Had the magic changed them somehow? Was he no longer a Malfoy?_ Even laying down he felt lightheaded suddenly and rolled his head to the side to acclimate himself and try to get his bearings. The implications washing over him in a cold sweat, but before he could provide commentary, Theo continued. "Why would the Dragons see us as your blood?" He interjected in curiosity.

Hermione couldn't see her brothers face, but she knew if she did it would look pinched and displeased at the admissions of their ancestor's secrets. She didn't share the same furtive motives as he did, for here they were; at the side of the mountain after months –Nay! – _Years_ of hard work and training for the siblings, and a commitment at least from the recent additions to their band of riders.

"Our Dragons will never bond to anyone but a descendant of the Gresham's." She confessed carefully, facing over her shoulder to her beau from the other side of her brother. Tyt'o rolled over to his back as he suppressed a groan.

"But then why train us? Why bring us with you? What point does all this have?" Theo asked with a small voice, feeling the pit of powerlessness grow inside his belly, threatening to claw out from inside him with its waves of sorrow.

The daughter of the House of Gresham, though in the dark, could feel tears of anger at herself –at her family- for leaving out such details of import to their two new kin. Anger at her father for forbidding them to impart such secrets, yet being so cowardly he could not warn the two young men at the same time. She tried not to chock as she felt the precious moisture fall from her eyes. To keep her voice even and belie the emotions she showed.

"We had no other choice." Tyt'o interrupted in a deadly calm tone. "Your fathers are pressing suits and sanctions against our people and lands because of a long-dead covenant between the Gresham's and the Malfoy's where our treacherous ancestor broke a contract of marriage in favor for the woman he loved." The man wiped his palms down his face in exhaustion. "Our father was given the option of heavy taxation to his people and lands for reparations, which would starve many of our people out of the lands they've tilled for generations. To fulfill the contract between Houses, or to abdicate two seats for rider training."

Draco heard the words ringing in his ears loudly as they were spoken, and they ran his mouth dry. His eyes searched in the darkness for Hermione's face, and yet he could see was the silhouette of her back and the curls of her hair as she cast her eyes to her hands in her lap, unable to look back at him.

"So it was all for political protection. For gain between rival Houses?" He asked, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his tone.

From beside him, Tyt'o could feel his sister's body shaking with silent tears. A testament to her control that she refused to utter even a single sound despite being clearly distraught over the implications presented.

The hesitation from both Gresham's spoke without words, which both Theo and Draco heard clearly enough. They were not _family_. They were not _friends._ They were a fulfillment of duty, and nothing more.

"D –Draco, I-" Hermione stammered out before Draco interrupted her.

"We need know no more." His voice was hard, and the words were like knives when he spoke them. The only noise he made after that was a pointed _thud_ as his body hit his bedroll. Hermione shut her eyes so tightly that they hurt as she crushed her fists against her mouth. ' _No!'_ She wanted to scream, but the words had come out all wrong! All facts, and no social niceties! It was her biggest weakness to regurgitate the facts and leave nothing left for the emotional parts. ' _You are part of us now! Forever and ever! You will be as family, as one of the House in your own rites now! The magic has woven you into our lands, as one of our people, and one of us!'_ But the words died in her mind as a sob escaped her lips, her declarations fading away as the hurt inside her swelled and absorbed her.

Tyt'o reached up and pulled his sister into the protection of his chest as she shuddered in the darkness. From either side of the siblings, both Theo and Draco found that their eyes burned with tears of rage and betrayal in hearing that the months of bonding and companionships built had, truly, meant nothing.

And while Theo curled up tighter as he fought back his doubts and fears as the dark vespers held them in their embrace, it was Draco who willed his heart to turn to stone.

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	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

The gray-white of the clouds and snow pattered gently against the pane in a ceaseless symphony, reminding Narcissa that outside, the elements raged without cares or regards to any one person's needs, or safety. The feeling of helplessness had been so relentless over the last few days that it had left her feeling listless and dull. Sleep seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. Food had neither taste, nor interest to her, and yet her body failed to complain. Even the book in her lap felt uninteresting and hollow as she glances over the words within its pages.

The aged book was an old tome, musty and beautiful in its regal state, and yet the contents bore no real interest to her. Though she tried, on a few occasions, when she found the continued sight of the oppressive snow storm to prove too tiresome to continue watching. Too depressing, in truth. For out there, somewhere, wandering against the elements, to Gods-knew-where, was the only being in this world for which Narcissa continued to fight, and to love. Her heart ached now more than she had ever known it could, and she was helpless to do anything.

It seemed still that in her malaise, she had acquired an unspoken companion. For there with her, equally brooding and silent, the Lady Ursa Gresham sat just as listlessly, and just as pensively as she herself. Day in, and day out, since the day the snow had started, the two found themselves plodding together every morning back to the sanctuary of the House library. Breakfasts barely touched, and words hardly murmured between them.

Sometimes they would each try to read throughout the day, though they in turn would often gaze out the window at the squall whiteout conditions outside, and thusly ignore what it was they were reading. Other times they would just sit quietly at the same sofa, once in a while one would reach for the other and clasp her hand in a restrained offering of unity in their worry and sorrow.

For outside, the winds howled, and the snow beat against the solid stone of the castle-home of the Gresham family. Its rages spoke of dangers outside, and battles being fought against its unrelenting might.

Today was the first day in the last handful that Narcissa realized, though she could not determine for how long she'd been unaware, that she sat in the large room completely alone. That the lady Ursa had not joined her yet. Or perhaps she had, and Narcissa had been unaware that she had gone? She couldn't be sure. Time, it seemed, and all the occurrences within it, blurred and faded away.

 _How many days had it been now?_ She wondered. _Had they escaped the storms? Had they hidden away for safety?_ Her mind, suddenly feeling engaged with her myriad of questions, caused her heart to clench, dangerously close to unleashing a flood of emotions that she wasn't certain she wished to afford herself. _Would they make it back?_

She closed her eyes with a bitter expression as she closed her book as well, and set it gently to the side on the little table near her. It was only upon hearing a faint clearing of a throat that her eyes flew back open, her attention immediately called towards the interruption of her thoughts that she saw the seated and reading visage of Rune Mora.

The Lady stared hard at the other woman, though she was seated further away towards some of the back shelves with distaste. It was only after several moments that Rune finally looked up from the book she read at Narcissa, and raised an eyebrow in question.

"Good afternoon Lady." She said with a plain tone, though purely confused by the glare that Narcissa cast upon her. Narcissa narrowed her eyes briefly before she spoke.

"What business have you here, _Master?"_ Narcissa's voice was gravelly and low from days of misuse from not speaking at all. Rune betrayed no reaction to the question, but cocked her head to the side calmly as she considered the fellow woman from across the expanse that separated them.

"It seems I am reading, Lady." Rune explained self-assuredly, causing Narcissa to bristle at the arrogance in her tone. She did not care to be mocked, nor burdened by company for that which she did not care. The result was that she found herself unable to compose her self, or her features into any semblances of calmness or detachment, and she let out a scoff as she whipped around, turning her attention to the crackling fire.

The drowsy of a page being turned rent the air behind her, and Narcissa glanced back once more to see that Rune had returned to her volume in complete obliviousness to Narcissa's discomforted state. Her eyes scanned the pages calmly as she read and turned the page once more.

The audacious disregard was strangely intolerable to her in that moment, and with an annoyance she hadn't registered she carried, she stood up so quickly she nearly lost her balance with the lightheaded rush that greeted her.

Grasping her skirts away from her feet, the nodded without looking as though steeling herself in a resolved conclusion. "I shan't bear the company of those who are of questionable preferences." She snarled out, and made to leave as she scooted around the side of the padded chair.

"You didn't object when I came in, I can't imagine why you do now." Rune commented offhandedly, and Narcissa turned herself once more to look at the invader within the space she had been peacefully languishing within.

"I do beg your pardon?" She seethed at Rune, who, for her part, hadn't looked up from her book again, but merely kept reading.

"Why but I've been here _hours_ already." She said. "Asked you if you minded the company. When you spoke nothing but a peep of a grunt, I came to sit and enjoy the literature." She lifted the book in her hands as a gesture, and the Master finally glanced up at Narcissa and back at the sofa from which she had risen from. "You've been mooning at that window for hours now, Lady."

"I have done no such thing." Narcissa said defensively and Rune shrugged with apathy. _Had it been so long?_ Narcissa looked then in earnest at the outside and considered from where the light shone. _Was it from the East now, or the West? What time was it?_

"As you say then." Her blue gray eyes returned to her book in clear disinterest. The Lady's questions still swimming wildly in her mind, she realized that Rune was right. She'd been in here all day in some kind of catatonia, unaware that the whole of the day had passed away completely. _How many days now had it been like this?_ She wondered briefly, ticking her fingers off silently as she tried to remember.

"Five days." The Master said, and Narcissa glanced at her briefly, and scowled for a moment. _No,_ she thought. _Five days? It couldn't have been that many already?_

"Aye, five days." Rune assured her, this time glancing up from the pages of her chosen text, casual in her contribution to the conversation. Narcissa found reality sinking in atop her shoulders as the weight of what the other woman had said being to take hold.

Five entire days had passed. Four of them enduring a tempest of a winter storm Narcissa had never known the like of. Five days since she had seen her son, _her only son,_ into the vast and unknown wilderness without knowing when it would return, or what would face him while he journeyed there.

Her knees felt weak and as her blue eyes had widened and her hands clasp together, she slowly sunk back down into her chair once more. All the years of her plans and preparations had all been to bear fruits that she has so desperately hoped to see sewn and bear forth for her, and her son, that she had forgotten what manner of dangers lie along the way to these ends.

From the space which separated the pair, Rune Mora watched as a wash of understanding blossomed across the Lady's face. How it showed her dismay, her fear. It left her looking hallow and lost, sudden weight seemed to be added along the undersides of her eyes, as though her sleeplessness and lack of appetite had finally caught up to her.

The Lady's blue eyes began to glisten as she hunched slowly, placing her head into the palms of her hands and a shuddering occurred all along the bow of her back as she began to weep.

Slowly the Master Necromancer closed the book she had been reading, placing the valuable works beside her as she watched a picture of the Lady as she crumbled before her eyes.

To this point, the Master Rune Mora had –regrettably- seemed to misjudge the regal Lady in more ways than one. First in that she would be in any shape interested in any extracurricular activities for which Rune was, admittedly, very skilled. But that also in the woman's ability to keep herself unfeeling and unmoved in the face of such a terse possibility.

While she could not dial back the sands of time and right her assumptions and overtures, she could in the very least _attempt_ to express some level of compassion for a fellow human. Though, secretly, the very notion left Rune squirming with discomforts of her own. Connecting on an emotional level was not something Rune left herself available for, nor vulnerable to.

Mora rose, and closed the gap between them and sat next to her, placing a hand at the center of Narcissa's back and gently began to stroke. Narcissa's gleaming blond hair, typically bound in braids or coils, and always tidy and succinct, now looked dull and frayed now that Rune really looked at it.

The Master squirmed uncomfortably as Narcissa leaned into the gesture as the trembling had turned into sobs. Her mouth a twisted line of uncertainty that this kind of gesture was either helpful, or even welcomed at that. The Lady's crying was neither gentle, nor soft, for born forth from it was all the pain, frustration, confusion and anger that she had had to endure through the long years that had led up to this point. Countless set-backs and goose-chases she had suffered, only to find that should the fates will it, she should lose her son too.

Lost in the moment of questioning whether or not she should bid the Lady adieu, or continue as she was, Narcissa righted her posture through her whimpering and wiped at her eyes messily, looking first at Rune while her lips trembled and the whites of her eyes were shot through with redness.

Unsure what it was then that she was supposed to do, Rune made to slowly discontinue the comforting action and stood without speaking. It was only as she turned to leave that she came to feel Narcissa's hand in her own, holding her back. She glanced down, and back at Narcissa again with a blank expression.

"Thank you." The Lady managed to break out in a croak. Rune nodded, and quickly made her way out from the library to give Narcissa peace from her presence.

Once free from the room, and the doors closed behind her she stood in the foyer before the library for a moment before looking back over her shoulder, questioning herself and her actions. Rune Mora was not a woman for shows of kindness, nor was she one for gestures of comfort. She was a Master, and a Necromancer, and she understood but a few purposes in her life, and a few minor frivolities besides. She was not one interested in matters of the hearts of others; life was fleeting, and cruel, and filled with injustices at every turn. She was clear on those facts, and had no illusions about what life had in store for someone like her.

Yet here she stood in the wake of a moment that disrupted her carefully-built demeanor right down to the foundation. Naturally it seemed that the most appropriate course of action was to walk away and speak nothing of it ever again, but against her own principles she stepped back to the closed wood of the door, and raised her palms against is as she closed her eyes and reached into the room with the aid of her magic.

There still on the other side, Narcissa wiped away at the flow of tears that continued, as she stared straight to where Rune had exited. Rune could see the Lady in her mind as she sat there still, and taking great care not to reach too far for too long, she pulled away slowly. Her questions answered.

Instead of feeling only the return of her magic as she pulled it back from the room, Rune was shocked back to attention when, from within the room, she felt the warm and lightly tingling sensation of Narcissa's magic as it brushed against that of her own. From where she still sat within the Library, Narcissa reached out just as Rune did, to seek her from the other side of the partition separating them.

Just as all magic was, the feeling of it was warm, and tickled along the edge of her own in an indescribably comforting manner. Though, like the smell of a person's flesh, all magic had a specific feel, a texture, and even a taste just at the person themselves did. And unsurprisingly, the magic of Lady Narcissa Malfoy was potent, and strong. The sensation caused Rune to feel waves of gooseflesh bath over her scalp and arms.

In this moment, Rune wished to pull that feeling closer to herself, to wrap it around her, and feel its unique texture within her fingertips as though it were the water in a stream as she would feel it across her own fingertips. But instead she blinked slowly as she forced back her temptation, and withdrew back around herself the magic she called upon. Though she could feel Narcissa reach further toward her as she backed away, trying still to experience Rune as Rune had experienced her.

Pushing away from the door, the safety of distance once again creating the separation for Rune once more, she turned to leave. The edges of Narcissa's magical outreach still seeking for contact as she walked away completely.

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The bitter, dry cold whipped across Tyt'o's brow as he adjusted the hood of his outer jacket to keep the small patch of skin around his eyes as protected as possible. The winds had woken them as the sun had arisen the day prior and brought with them a steady drop to the temperature with each passing hour.

Miraculously, their mounts had kept plodding along with them, seemingly able to handle the cold as it chased them along their paths. But, the noise and the arduous travel had left any remaining conversation between the travelers unresolved.

With waking the next morning after the fateful night in which his sister, in her infinite wisdom, decided to fill in their companions on some of the finer details that their parents had left unspoken. Particularly, the _reason_ they were to become riders at all.

Tyt'o had fallen asleep that night only once his sister had finally stilled, and yet sleep had alluded him longer yet as he stewed further over the circumstances in which they found themselves. It would have done them no good at all to wake the group and explain, from the beginning of their family's historical involvement, through the current age and political climate, how they came to this event now. But Draco's refusal to even _look_ at Hermione now made it blindingly evident that it was needed.

The dire need for clarification notwithstanding, the wind had put a complete stop to any such possibility only the very next day, and the brooding silence between Draco and Hermione continued. Her inability to speak to him gave way to a succession of pleading looks, and watery smiles when he would look even near her. All of them answered with a face made of stone, and each turning her away in sadness and silence.

Even Theo found himself drowning deeper and deeper into his own conscious in the storming sea of his own questions and doubts. His blue eyes barely raising but for mere moments once in a few hours to see that his horse still remained in step behind Tyt'o's.

The melancholy that lay over the shoulders of the four travelers did nothing but weight them down more and more as they rode the narrow and rocky pathways through the mountains. The wind howling more and more with each passing hour until dark clouds had formed on a far horizon, eking slowly overhead in a dark and foreboding omen.

They reaches the edges of the forests that lined the valleys of the peaks of Morvan Rove, and the pathway opened up as trees grew more and more scares. The air becoming too thin for anything deciduous to thrive as such an altitude, and only bare rock, high mountain grasses, and small hearty pine trees littered the landscape. High above the sheer rock faces of high peaks loomed overhead now, like

Mute sentinels above them; great Gods of the earth come to bear witness to their toilsome journey.

It was here that the winds became their most deadly and fierce, for they whipped over the landscape with no barrier, and the four were exposed to them utterly. And thus, on the sixth day, the four dismounted the animals in turn, and removed their provisions to carry on foot and set the horses to make their way back to the valley alone.

As Hermione watched their four trustworthy steeds made no hesitation in turning back the way that they had come, she felt exposed and vulnerable. The last two days of wind and closer proximity to the higher mountain areas had left them more uneasy, skittish, than they would be normally. For not only were they entering the territory claimed by the Dragon Sires, there were predators about to be certain. It had not escaped notice that there had been several spottings of large paw prints in the snow, and the behaviors of the horses had changed notably in that time as well.

But these were dangers were known, and that was still little comfort to her now. The skies above were blackening and angry, threatening snow and storms overhead of them. And though to this point, they had found themselves just missing the worst of each maelstrom, their luck wouldn't hold forever. She tugged the edges of her hood down and shrugged her shoulders to adjust the straps of her pack, and made to join her brother along the rocky side of the mountain.

Travel by foot was much slower than by horseback, for horses could cover a greater distance than a bipedal human. But the path had become less obvious and infringed upon by boulders and debris fallen from the peak faces down the sloping sides of the mountains. These would be trails too difficult for a wise hoof as often the rocks were loose in the dirt.

By the eve of the seventh day, the walking and the persistently harrowing silence had worn the four of them down to the point where each of them seemed to be wearing thin with lack of energy. Between Tyt'o and Hermione, they had been unable to find the direction they were supposed to 'sense' with their magic, and were exhausted from casting their magic out repeatedly to try to find a connection to their Dragons. Between that, and walking from dawn until sun set, they were all but dead on their feet by the fall of night. The most communication they offered between the pairs were assorted grunts of concurrence, or declination.

While Theo and Draco said little to Tyt'o and Hermione, the siblings still shared a few limited and quiet conversations from time to time. Their voices hushed and subdued over the topic of where to direct themselves, or when to find a place to shelter to sleep.

The morning that marked their eighth day of travel found them waking before the sun had even cleared the tops of the mountains, and brought with it a blanket of soup-like low clouds that had lingered all over the mountainside. The daylight had diffused all through the clouds and added further weight to the melancholy they had all begun to experience.

The walking had begun to feel like a death march into the high mountain passes now. The air was thinning, and their progress slowed as they each tried to keep their breathing steady, and their heart rates conservative, lest they become affected by the altitude, and injure themselves by falling.

Tyt'o lit a fire that morning with a bare amount of kindling they'd gathered the night before. Dried grasses and a few twigs blown in from further distances. Without the trees to protect them, vegetation had grown scarce, as was similarly any source of water as well.

Draco, having rolled up his blankets and taken a conservative pull from his water bladder, looked out into the soup-like mist that surrounded him and straightened his aching back. Days of sleeping on the ground each night were beginning to take a toll on him, as were the days of walking now as well. All four of them had grown weary and tired looking as each day passed. Each of them with bags that had slowly formed under their eyes that deepened and darkened every morning. He wondered if any of his three traveling companions were sleeping as little as he was.

Meals of dried meat, fruit and hard bread left him still hungry and his body aching for the healing sensation of a warm meal as it filled your belly, and left you sated and ready to sleep. His gray eyes felt dry in this high air, and too as though no matter how much he rested at intervals during their march, how he couldn't quite seem to catch his breath.

Swishing his bladder back and forth, he corked the top and set it down. Their water was dwindling, and they were still wandering into the mountains with no certain direction. He hadn't spoken to either Gresham sibling since Hermione had all but told them they weren't welcomed to their family willingly. To _her_ willingly. He was not so dense that he could not have seen how, at the first weeks, none of them had found common ground to find friendship together. But the confession of his father's political motivations had disturbed him greatly. Had the threat of her family's lands and peoples taxation into ruin drive her into his company, and arms, with the motive of sealing the breech between the Houses?

The recent confession of his love for her left him feeling vulnerable and weakened in his position, for she had made no such similar claim. Though he saw here now, silently looking at him with wide and surprised eyes as they had continued on their journey, she had made no real attempt to try to speak to him. He warred with himself over this. Surely Tyt'o knew, categorically, what manner of deceit the two of them had been about whilst they were still under the roof of the Gresham castle? Was Theo then, as well?

As he mutely fed himself around the wilting fire that warmed them but a little, he looked up to the faces of his companions. Theo, for his part, had been disturbingly quiet throughout this time. His blue eyes heavy with a haunted gaze that seemed to stare out from within him, with barely a show of life within. He looked tired, as did they all. Tyt'o, normally comprised well and an easy smile on his face, looked drawn. The lines of his forehead seemed deeper, more intense than they ever had. His eyes looked darker than their vibrant copper color, and the skin at the corners of his mouth turned down.

And Hermione. He looked at her last of all, for his confusion over what to do about her never ended, and never brought him conclusion. Her beautiful brown hair, normally beautiful with its waves and curls, was bound away from her face and frizzing from the combination of moisture in the air, and the nightly sleep on the mountainsides. Her complexion was one of pallor, her features drawn and tight. She hadn't gawped at him since he'd taken note of her, though he was hard pressed to imagine she might at this point. He had done everything he could to ignore her unspoken pleas to connect with her over the past days while he sorted out what it was he felt over all of this. The light given off by the fire danced in the copper color of her eyes as she stared at is catatonically; a shred of dried meat in her hand that she had ignored.

The young man frowned as he watched her, wondering what it was she thought of. A gust of icy air caught him by surprise as it bit at him through a risen edge of his jacket onto his warmer torso beneath, and he felt ire wash over him as the chilled wind caused his body to break out in shivers as he tried to warm himself again.

Without knowing why, exactly, he grew angry then. Angry that they were set adrift in a foreign land to do the puppet-work of their fathers. To further ambitions that were not even their own. Angry that they were given _no_ direction as to where they were going, and the only two people who knew where that was, were barely able to speak to him, as he was similarly disposed unto them as well. Angry that he was outside, exposed to the elements at the end of winter when he should be home, warm and comfortable.

The expression on his face must have changed drastically, for it was Theo who reached out to him in the middle of this silent mental tirade, and touched him gently on the arm. For it brought Draco back to the present, to the look of concern on his friend's tired and worn face. Theo wore a soft smile, unassuming and questioning. Draco's enmity in the presence of a friendly gesture, seemed to fade back as he returned back to this present time and away as he met his friend's eyes for a few solid moments. Neither of them speaking a word as they did.

Just as it brought Draco out from the cloud of anger, it too seemed to lift Theo's spirits slightly. Perhaps it was merely the contact with another human being that brought him comfort. Or even the connection they briefly shared that proved they were here, together, and as friends. As though, perhaps, they had forgotten the closeness that they had forged over the months together as their status as outsiders within an adversarial House to their own had gradually brought them into a deeper fold of friendship.

Draco nodded to Theo, and he in return to his friend. His blue eyes so much more serious than Draco had ever seen them. Warier, perhaps it might have been. But the affirmation of his friendship brought back the feeling a

So, too, had Tyt'o and Hermione glanced to him as well, equally curious as to the exchange that had transpired. In such tight quarters now it was difficult to ignore subtle gestures, and neither sibling was above reproach where it concerned eavesdropping. After all; what else was there to do?

Without provocation or warning, the still of the morning was obliterated with the booming reverberation of a Dragons roar that slashed through the peace of their surroundings. Echoing over the bare expanse of mountain peak it shook them each down to their very bones, and through their skulls.

Even as the bursting of the cry faded away, what replaced it was the sounds of a woman screaming.

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	42. Chapter 42

**I'm so sorry I done y'all dirty in the last chapter. I hope this came out fast enough though.**

 **Chapter 42**

The ringing in his ears was all Tyt'o could hear. That, and the muffled sound of something else, but what was it? A waterfall? Was there water nearby? The rushing in his ears was nondescript, so he could not make sense of anything around him. Even his vision had wavered as his hearing had betrayed him utterly in the wake of hearing a Dragon roar so close to him.

Taking his hands now away from his ears, he cautiously opened his eyes which were oddly blurry, and he wiped at them to discover they were wet. He looked at his palms, close to his face, and wiped again. Were these tears?

His disorientation was interrupted by the sharp tugging at his left arm, and though he turned his head to look at what it was he felt his body respond so slowly that it was nearly dizzying. Hermione's frantic and wide eyes were next to his, and as her mouth moved rapidly he realize that her words were the noise he was hearing. Accept he couldn't hear her yet. He squinted to clear his vision, and shook his head slightly.

Her cool hands touched his forehead, and she leaned closer to his ear. The tone ebbing and flowing with her words, but the tenor gentler now. As dizziness swept over him, she guided him gently to sit once more. _Had he been standing?_

Tyt'o closed his eyes as he did, fighting back as the darkness around his vision threatened to overtake him and pull him under. All the while his sister's voice seemed to slowly creep back into tune as he began to understand better what it was she was saying. Slowly, at first, the words became clearer.

" … _..too close, but I didn't think we wouldn't have felt is while we were here. Why do you think…"_ Her words faded back out again as the ringing returned slightly, and he tried shaking his head instinctively, as though that would help him somehow.

"… _.be close now. That was so awful….."_ Tyt'o sighed as his sister kept speaking rapidly. "…. _soon now, perhaps, we might be getting closer…."_ Without looking, he reached out his hand and grasp his sister's forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. When he did, the ebbing and flowing of volume ceased and he felt her palms at either side of his face along his temples, turning his face this way and that as she examined him.

The blur around his vision had begun to retreat and the picture in front of him became clearer. In his immediate field of sight was his sister, peering into his face like their mother would when she was sure they had come back from the barn with fleas. He swatted her away playfully, and she returned the gesture as her attention never left him. As she tried tapping at his upper ear lobe he pried his head out of her hands and looked around her to see what had happened.

Nothing about their sad land dreary little camp seemed to have changed, save for the fact that both Draco and Theo seemed to have been similarly incapacitated, and were recovering slowly as they sat, sagging against their own legs in the dirt below them. Each separately struggling through their own disorientation equally.

Seeing that clearly he was regaining his faculties, Hermione staggered herself towards Theo first, as he was closest to them, and placed a hand on his shoulder. She kept her gesture gentle, and her tone very light, unsure if what response she would be met with after the days of silence and brooding unhappiness they had endured.

"Theo," she whispered. "Are you alright?" The young man looked up gingerly at Hermione. At the girl who had over the months of their tutelage become his friend. Maybe it was a reaction to the terror they'd just experienced, or perhaps even vestiges of the friendship they had forged, but he returned her gentility with a small smile and touched her hand as he gave her a faint nod.

Seeing to Theo, Hermione walked cautiously then to Draco. The one person there she was most unnerved to be close to, and yet the only one there she wanted closeness with as well.

His breath was ragged, and his back rose and fell rapidly. She hesitated as she reached out to him, nearly pulling her hand back entirely as she second guessed herself. Her chilled hand made contact with his cool outer leathers, and instantaneously he responded with looking up at her with wild and fearful eyes.

The pair stared at each other, she from her standing position and he from his seated one before she finally murmured loud enough for him to hear her. "Are you well?" She asked, not sure she could predict what his response would be to her.

It took a few breaths while he held her stare before his own breathing finally moderated. Adrenaline finally receding from his veins, and the wildness of his eyes seemed to calm slightly as he slowly composed himself.

Silence hung between the two as the words they wanted to say alluded them, suspended by the reconnection together. She offered a tentative smile to him, as though to offer an olive branch to him, still keeping her hand on his upper back. When he failed to return the expression, she turned to leave, feeling wan once again at the egregious error cause by her failure to tell them the truth they had been owed.

As her hand had slipped away, she felt it brush by something fleshy, and she glanced back to see Draco's fingers pulling away from her own, and a smile she could not withhold made its way to her face. Though his gray eyes no longer met hers, she desperately hoped it was the reconciliatory sign she yearned for.

Hermione cleared her throat and made back to her brother, and what was left to her water bladder. The scream she had let out had been, to say the least, embarrassing and imprudent. Though luckily not what was to blame on the disorientation they had all felt following the Dragon roaring, which had nearly ruptured their ear drums, not to mention rendered them all unconscious it had been so loud. The long days of travel and constant physical exertion had left her vulnerable and sensitive.

The light of the early morning fog had brightened slightly all around them, showing that the sun continued its ascent into the sky. Though from this high vantage, and the trickery created by the mist, it was impossible to gauge what time, exactly, it was.

Taking a conservative sip to whet her thirst from the mouth piece, she watched over the three young men as they each sorted out their equilibrium and surveyed as much of the landscape as she could in her field of vision. The plateau they had camped in yesterday was obscured immensely by the wayward clouds, but something she could not place had begun to tickle her in the back of her mind about their surroundings that kept her on edge. Especially at the shocking encounter only moments ago.

Still looking out and around them, she was as of yet unwilling to leave the safety of the group to satisfy her curiosities. For as interested as she was in reassessing their position, such foolishness could get her hurt. Or worse; killed.

Her brother came to stand beside her and rubbed at the back of his neck at the tension forming in the tops of his shoulders. "What in the Shadow Lands was that noise?" He asked, and Hermione cast him a baleful glare.

"A Dragon, of course. Should not that be obvious?" He in turn rolled his eyes at his sister.

"That much is obvious, screeching wren." He continued past the playful insult –the first in almost a fortnight, which was a good sign at least. "What was the screaming?" Hermione felt her cheeks warm up despite the chill in the wintery air at his question.

"Oh-" She managed to stammer quietly. "That was, well. That was me." She finished sheepishly. Her brother answered with a half-guffaw and he clapped her shoulder.

"Well, be still my beating heart!" He exclaimed jovially, annunciating his sisters own favorite exclamation in a mocking tone. "My little wren, terrified of a Dragon!" Hermione slapped at his arm, hissing a silencing command at him, but fighting a smile all the same at the playful words.

Breaking through their conversation, a great shadow passed overhead ending their exchange immediately. It overcast the faded sunlight from overhead of them, and a low rumble sounded from the sky above.

All four sets of eyes were fixed upward at the massive form above them. Even the soup of the clouds that surrounded them moved in the wake of the great mass of air that swept by. Hermione reached out to Tyt'o without taking her eyes away from the sight up above them, and he too felt for her as well.

The airborne mass overhead was close enough to where they could see the beating of vast and massive wings with some distinction. The flapping of them intermittently blocked out the light above as their beating slowed and the scraping of claws across rocks sounded as a low, and dark scoff resounded in the fog surrounding them.

 _ **Sweet is your blood in my nose, little ones.**_ It said menacingly, the baritones of the tenor reverberating in their ears as the unseen presence behind the voice seemed to circle around them, the grinding of rocks under immense weight following along with it as each clawed extremity moved.

The low chuckle sounded next as, though the mist, the massive head stretched itself upward, the gold of the scales dull through the protection of the clouds as they obfuscated the Dragon as it circled to face the four. All of them were standing stock still as the monstrous creature caged them inward with the mass of its body in their small encampment. The head circling down last to close in the distance with its dark golden eyes reduced to slits of gilded light as they peered down at the quarry.

The scales across his nose rose upward on the long face in distinct patterns, overlaying in a masterfully elegant fashion as they rose upward to the six vast horns that spread out at the crown on his head. The head swayed slowly as it considered the four trespassers now, breathing slowly as the lips parted back to reveal rows upon rows of flesh-rending knives which lie in wait of tender muscle to carve.

The body had encircled them into a terrifyingly tight area, slowly minimizing their escape as any exit over the mass of scales and brawn of the magical creature was clearly going to be impossible.

Hermione and Tyt'o stood unblinking as they started back at the great Dragon, desperately trying to keep from trembling, yet their clasp hands had begun to shake from the vice-like grip they had on each other, causing a pins and needles sensation as the blood had stopped from flowing.

With a sudden exhale through the armored pockets of his nose, the magical being snuffed as his head drew back slightly and he leaned his head around the pair of siblings, and Tyt'o could swear he saw the Dragon's golden eyes begin to burn as though there were fire behind them.

 _ **What is this you bring unto my mountain?**_ It growled out lowly as his notice had fallen on Draco and Theo, and the head lowered in a long and threatening hiss as he pulled back to strike.

Instinctively, as the Dragon moved, Tyt'o and Hermione – hand still clasp in utter fear, closed the gap between the Dragon and their friends. With a cry of objection, Tyt'o pulled his sister behind him and stood firm.

Though it mattered little, for truly more than one of them could have fit inside the giant maw that was the beasts' mouth, the creature made a noise of sibilation at the duo in the way of his aggressive display. The curvature of his long scaled body squeezing tighter still until the walls of Dragon flesh were but an arm's length away from their motley little crew of travelers. As the Dragon attempted to work around Tyt'o, the young man held fast between the Dragon and the other three and the animal roared at the defiance.

It was at that moment that his head rose upward atop his elongated neck, and the sudden descent of a second Dragon appeared overhead. Jaws open, and claws down, the smaller golden head snapped angrily at the larger Dragon making brief contact with the armored neck in what could have snapped a person in half, but seemed only to nip at the scaled surface. Quickly the body surrounding them moved to uncurl itself as the aerial assault for the second Dragon continued and the four youths scrambled desperately away to avoid the mass of claws and tails that thrashed around the rocky plateau.

Screams sounded from the larger Dragon, as the one overhead merely hovered above, striking out all around the larger, but failing to make purchase each time. The beating of the large wings kicking a steady wind upward as the clouds were banished from the site around them.

Driven to stay together as they fled for their lives, the troop of young riders fled to the furthest point away from the two warring beasts to find the flat terrain dropped sharply only a few paces away from the dangerous clash of the two Gold titans cut off any remaining escape, but was noticed too late in the cloud cover.

Unable to fully stop the inertia behind the break-neck run she was at, Hermione tried to turn as her body pitched over the edge and over the brink of the cliff into the air, toward absolute death below.

A cry barely left her lips when a firm couple of hands darted out and caught her; one around her upper arm, and the other by the front of her jacket, and with great force yanked her back to the safety of the mountainside.

Beyond them, as the two Dragons spat and menaced at each other, she clasp the arms gripping her and exhaled in relief at Draco, and Theo, whom had caught her. Draco's face was stricken in terror and his heart beating so frantically he felt he might faint on the spot as he looked at her, and pulled her toward him in an uncharacteristically showy fashion, and touched his forehead against hers as he screwed his eyes shut, shuttering his breaths out rapidly.

From behind them, Tyt'o, equally as horrified in that moment, was forced to watch as the pair held each other openly exposed now to both he and Theo. The pair glanced at each other hesitantly and turned when, after a pause, a long growl sounded from where the Dragons had pitted against each other.

The smaller of the two, sleeker than the larger one, and build of less dense muscle overall, stood on all fours, wings raised in a threatening display as high as they could reach and back arched. The body was positioned between the humans and the large Dragon in a protective manner, and the tail whipped from side to side in agitation. But the roaring and snapping of jaws, and claws had finally ceased. With one final trumpet of warning, the larger of the two retreated by several steps, and slipped gracefully from the opposite mountainside and into the air through the clouds.

It was many breaths later that the wings of the creature finally slackened, and nestled comfortably along the long and scaled back of the gold Dragon. The tail laid to rest along the stone of the mountain, and a great scaled head turned around to observe the four trembling and cowed teens.

Though smaller that the opponent it had faced, the beast had been no less fierce in its assault upon the other Dragon, and even still towered over the heights of even the group of young riders as it made a few steps to draw closer into them, and lowered its head to address them.

 _ **Oh my dear ones,**_ it breathed softly, and slowly blinked the shining dark golden eyes to the shivering and terrified cluster of bedraggled riders. The voice was softer than that of the larger Dragon, and the moment it had spoken, it dawned on the interloping pair of newcomers that _this was a female._ Her head cocked to the side, she gently rubber the end of her nose in front of Tyt'o and Hermione, who reverently leaned in, and together embraced the end of her scaled snout as they murmured to the Dragon softly. They were words of love, and affection, and thanks for their protection from the wilder of the pair of Sires.

 _ **My sweet strong children,**_ the Dragon crooned gently. _**How you have grown since I have been gone here, and how I have missed seeing you.**_ The female Dragons eyes opened slowly and a rhythmic grumble sounded deep within her chest that sounded pointedly familiar.

"The Calling!" Theo blurted out, not thinking about his present company when he realize what it was that he was hearing. The large Dragon head, without casting her affixed humans aside, leaned a little outward to see who has spoken to her. The eyes were not as wild as the ones that had raked over them hungrily, as the larger male Dragon had, instead the dark gold –like a sparkling gold near firelight- looked him over carefully and gentle withdrew herself from the affectionate gesture.

 _ **Very smart, little one.**_ She crooned to Theo, and settling herself down from her high and imposing vantage, like a mother would do for a small child. The manner in which she held herself was calm and considerably less threatening. _**And who are these you have brought with you?**_ She asked, looking between the Gresham heirs and the faces she had never before met.

"Theo, and Draco." Tyt'o offered, pointedly leaving their names as their stand-alone title. The female Dragon side-eyed the young man, but offered no objections nor commentary as of yet. Instead, she leaned her horned head to the side and blinked slowly, reassuringly even. _**I am Imri.**_ She said, and looked to each of them in turn, carefully mapping their faces and heights as she considered them and memorized them.

A whooshing higher overhead caused her to send her gaze upward in a sudden gesture, and a shadow passed through the light above them casting a moving shadow overhead, and the female stood carefully. Her wings raising from her back as one of them extended out and over the heads of the four rides, curving inward to draw them beneath it.

When the Dragon overhead had flown past them, she released the wing from overhead and motioned with her head to follow her. _**Come little ones. The nest is only close. You are not as safe here as I know your mother would have you. Follow me carefully up the path.**_

Without question, the four fell into quick step behind the Dragon as she stepped carefully, each paw securing purchase on the rock of the mountain as she ascended through the clouds and upward. From behind her, Draco reached behind him and wordlessly reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand, and held it in towards his body. Drew her close beside him once again.

There was not time for words in these moments, and no place for apologies just yet. The true and real dangers they were up against had struck Draco to the very core of his being, and he refused now to let Hermione walk into the unknown that faced them all without himself by her side.

The smile that crept up on her face as she sighed out her relief, and she threw her arms around him in abandon. A whimsical chuckle from the Dragon sounded as she looked back at her now-growing little human rider, and the overt shows of affection she was participating in.

 _ **There will be time enough for this, my strong riders.**_ She glanced overhead uncertainly. _**We must make haste now before my mate returns to guard his nest. Walk quickly now.**_ Her leather wing, tipped at the front joint, made a motion forward at the two.

The two rushed up the pathway together, hand in hand, as they followed closely at the side of the Dragon, beneath the parasol of her wing as she saw them safely upward into the refuge of her nest.

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	43. Chapter 43

**In case it bears repeating; all characters from the HP 'verse belong to the amazing JKR. Everyone else is mine. Some similarities to anything with the HP verse it borrowed, and I make no money from this story.**

 **Also; errors are all on me. My bad.**

 **Chapter 43**

Ursa's brow was still furrowed intensely while she read over the last weeks accounts, store volumes and completed building report from the nursery. An otherwise bore some day-to-day event that would normally see the woman sipping her warmed daily elderberry and comfrey tea without care nor concern, but after 11 days with no word from her children, and their wards; her worries had begun to take hold of her.

She inhaled deeply over the steam from the earthen-ware mug. The sweet and crisp aroma had the slightest earthy back-tone to it from the burdock she had added just specially this morning. The primrose and raspberry leaf were a subtle touch to it as well, but ones purely for necessity and not

Her lower belly turned over slightly with an accompanying groan and she adjusted in her seat. Was the stress and worry was beginning to take a toll on her, she asked silently and turned her parchment to continue her review.

The gentle tinkling of metal on pewter sounded and Ursa glanced up at the rest of the table to discover that the Lady Narcissa had joined her at some point during her glazed over ponderings. She smiled apologetically. "I am so sorry, my Lady, I didn't hear you enter." She shuffled away her work and opened her posture more invitingly. The Lady-guest to her House smiled, and waved her hand slightly.

"No need for amends, Lady. I confess I entered rather quietly myself, intent to remain subdued. From the look of it, you seemed immersed quite well in your Household duties. It is not my place to disturb."

Ursa gave a small smile and looked down at her own place setting to be greeted with a now-cold porridge that had been set there some time prior by a domestic. Though, she had, too, ignored it utterly. She gave a resigned sigh.

From down the table Narcissa chuckled. "I see you are as hungry as I." She said with a tone laced in melancholy. When Ursa looked at her again, she noted that while her fellow Lady was dressed and her hair back, that the style was neither elaborate, nor meticulous as it should be. Her blue eyes carried weight under them that, like her own, had not been there a mere fortnight prior.

She shook her head and leaned back and away from the table. Through the small stained windows the diffused light outside belied the grim and gray clouds in the sky, further adding to the somber feel of the day. Her own despondence so dominating, she further failed to hear the other occupied chair creak against the stone of the floor as it was pushed back, and the sole presence in the room approach her.

When Ursa came back to herself once more, she found that Narcissa had joined her at her lonely end of the table. Her lips turned down in an expression that matched what Ursa assumed she herself must wear as well.

The two women sat in silence before Ursa sensed a shuffle of position in her companion, drawing her eyes away from the empty gaze she was consumed in. Narcissa had gentle dabbed at her eyes and the moisture that had encroached on her usual veneer of indifference, and Ursa felt herself soften suddenly at the mirror of the other woman she witnessed now. A mother, like herself, and a Lady of a great House. And though they were not exactly friends, they had become sorrowful companions in their arduously enduring task of awaiting the return of their children. Their _only_ children, at that.

A feeling of great sympathy overwhelmed Ursa just then, and without thought to the consequence or the meaning of it, she lay her hand upon Narcissa's and offered a weak, yet warm smile. The first, she thought, in some length of time she could not yet imagine, it seemed. For all thoughts of warmth and happiness had all but evaporated from her since she watched her children ride off from the safety of their castle-home in the mountains, and into the unknown journey beyond.

No matter how many nights she had sought her husband's embrace, and how many times he had further kissed away her tears as he reverently stripped her down to the bare of her flesh in the privacy of their rooms to share in worship of the other, it had not been able to lift her spirits. For whenever sleep finally claimed her, it was with a worried heart and mind she rested. And with each waking morning she felt an emptiness in her chest where it seemed all of her happiness had been cleaved from it.

Even without the presence of their wards, Theo and Draco, the interior of the House was somber and silent in an eerie quiet that unnerved her. Such a large castle should never be forced to suffer the lack of laughter and love within it, she had resolved.

Joining her in this show of candor over her own sorrow, Ursa was at least comforted that, like her fellow Lady, she was not the only one who worried day and night over the outcome of what their offspring faced now.

"I, I don't know what's come over me." Narcissa managed to stammer, awkwardly patting Ursa's proffered hand over her own.

"You needn't hide your worry, Lady." Ursa said supportively. "I too, am stricken by the worries of what will befall our children in the mountains. Your tears are not the only ones to wet these floors." Narcissa managed a chuckle at that.

"I imagine not." She conceded and produced a good-natured smile then. She couldn't have explained what had come over her to cause her to join Ursa at the end of the table like this. To expose herself so utterly, and to a stranger in a House that would most certainly take up enmity to her purposes. For the House of Black had never before allied to any of the Houses of the Guild; most of the families within them had been deemed "too poor" or perhaps even "not of noble enough lineage to hold the titles they had." Such were the words of her father, and grandfather, this she knew as much.

But as they sat together in their mutual emotional devastations, she reasoned that it would be of benefit to forge new ground before she moved forward to her own establishments. The Lady nodded absentmindedly and looked again at Ursa. Her face, though much different than her own, what because of lineage, upbringing, as it all were. How different were they, truly? Did they not share the same goals of prosperity for their Houses? Did they not share a love of the children that had grown and sprung forth from their wombs? Were there not joys in life they did not seek to more-enhance their everyday lives?

Her palm atop Ursa's gave a little squeeze, and Ursa returned in kind.

Through this clandestine maelstrom of political backbiting that would unfold over the next months and years, it was odd that Narcissa found herself wondering if she could yet call this woman before her by a moniker she had never yet experienced: Friend.

From the smile that had graced Ursa's mouth, and the surety of which she held her, it seemed, strangely, that she could.

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For the first time in nearly a fortnight, Draco of House Malfoy felt comfortable, warm, and safe. The cushioning beneath him was warmed by a night of collected body heat, and all around him was an encasement of blankets which warmed him. In the fog of early morning thinking, he didn't question or ponder it, or anything else. He just breathed deeply and hugged closer to him the slightly-stirring body in his arms.

Soft strands were tickling his cheek when he dared to open his eyes finally. The light around was dim, but his eyes adjusted enough that he could see the rounded top of brown waves just near his chin. The scent in his nose was familiar, but distinct. A smell he knew, even. He tilted his chin to look down to discover that wound as tightly into his embrace as her own, was Hermione.

For a few heartbeats he was frozen still. Instinctually he knew he had to move, and immediately. Such a position was, well, deliciously intoxicating. For the familiar dull throb between his legs had responded instantly, bringing with it a not-unpleasant sting that demanded attention to it.

Though he had dreamed and longed for many nights, and many more mornings to find his arms filled with this specific female, he was more so concerned as to _why_ she lay here in his arms. He had no prior memory of getting here, nor taking her into his bed. He covertly peeked around at their surroundings to see that they were in a vast indentation, like a bowl or sorts, filled with a bedding of leaves, and something fluffy he couldn't identify.

The sounds of sighs and breathing then filled his ears, and his eyes followed the noises to see that both Theo and Tyt'o were there too, and he exhaled his relief in seeing his compatriots alive and unharmed as they were. Though, neither of them had their arms filled with a woman, either. His cheeks felt hot suddenly, and the pull in his nether area _compelled_ him with its desperation to seek some soft attentions against the form of his slumbering maiden.

Draco stifled a groan of longing to succumb to the craving in his loins, and detested mildly that in doing so he might firstly, terrify and humiliate his maiden and drive her to withdrawal of him, and secondly, they might be discovered. As painful as denying himself was, acceding to this itch had no fit in his stratagem. Instead, he distracted himself by touching the top of Hermione's fuzzy locks gently, familiarizing himself with the texture and feel. Using this opportunity to, instead of kissing and groping at the other frantically with uncertainty of how many moments they could afford to steal, to memorize every angle of her he could see. How her nose sloped perfectly into a dainty end, how the glow of the summer sun still kissed her cheeks and brow, and beneath it how faint little freckles existed on the crest, splattered here and there carelessly.

Her eyelashes were as thick and dark as they were long, as was her mane of hair which manages to appear both wavy in some places and curly in others. Though bound unrelentingly, and regularly, he blinked for a long moment imagining what it would feel like as the tresses poured over her shoulders as she leaned over him, and how the sensation would tickle his bare shoulders.

Even the minute vision in his mind's eye caused his flagging and ignored appendage to snap to life ruthlessly as it raged once more in demand that it be introduced more directly to some part of his lady. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to keep himself from rocking bodily against Hermione's sleeping, limp body, but in his stressful attempt to maintain some dignity through this uncontrollable physical reaction, his arms wrapped around her all the tighter. And, to his absolute horror, she began to stir in his arms in response.

As she took a deep breath in, her spine arched and her arms raised as her entire body grew taut in its action. The young man froze utterly as he willed over and over silently to roll back over and return to her slumber, when instead a slow and sleepy smile appeared on her face as she gently rolled over to face him. He felt a wash of cold panic flow over him, like the cracking of an egg over the top of his head.

Her copper colored eyes blinked open slowly as they adjusted to the light, and a warm and soft hand cupped his cheek tenderly. Her eyes betraying the vulnerability of her heart so much that it made him want to take her lips with hers.

"I am so sorry." She whispered immediately, and he felt his insides tighten as she spoke. "I should have spoken to you sooner about the Dragons." He returned her affectionate ministrations by peppering a kiss to her brow, and she continued. "I need to explain more to you. About the magic, and how it has changed you. It was not my will to open a chasm so great between the two of us…." Her words drifted off and he nodded his agreement.

"And I was too hasty with my frustration, and pettiness to listen to you. To beg clarification." He conceded.

"This journey has made weary travelers of us." She said in agreeance, and he touched her hair with his hand in a tender manner. She smiled and cautiously met his gaze, suddenly _aware_ of how intimately close they were situated, and a little color of pink appeared on her face.

Before he could conjure words to speak to her, a very light purring rumble sounded nearby and the pair turned in search of it. From under the edge of the canopy, and just above their heads, the long scaled snout of a golden Dragon moved slowly, turning towards them but a little.

The large lids of the eyes pulled open lazily unveiling dark golden orbs surrounding the widened black vertical slit of black pupil, of which was already looking at the pair of clandestine young lovers.

The duo had frozen in their position; their arms circling the other, chests mere and scandalous inches apart, and legs entwining comfortably. Both sets of eyes were wide with fear of the fierce castigation that was certain to be dealt at any second. But instead, a chuckle so soft sounded, that it seemed impossible to come from such a large creature. As though that kind of noise would be impossible.

 _ **Hush now young ones.**_ She said affectionately. _**Make no fracas that will wake the others.**_ She breathed her own deep sigh, and from all around them the shift of a Dragons body moved in tandem as they came to realize they were, in fact, being cocooned by her body. A nest made by the curled length of her.

The awning over top of them moved similarly to reveal it to be the membrane of her wing that had been folded over the top of them, which occasionally alighted upward, so as to allow fresher air within. And not only were there the four weary and exhausted travelers in this protected truss, but four burnished and buttery yellow eggs in their midst.

Even though Hermione and Draco were the only pair currently cuddled together in their affections, the four wondrous eggs –nearly half as long as each of them- were lain there among them intermingled. There were as well, one egg on either side of the joined duo and Draco leaned back to look closer at the ecru colored ovum with more speculation.

The shell of it was polished brightly and almost luminous despite the lack of direct light in the nest. And the warmth that radiated from it was noticeable as well. He made to touch it gingerly with his fingers, but hesitated when a light jet of breath blew across his face, and he looked back at the Dragon sire who eyes him carefully. As he retracted his curious touches, she blinked slowly and without objection.

Her eyes, though the same dark golden as her mates, were speckled here and there with a green that reminded him of the leaves of the forest when they had first ride through it on horseback, and seemed to add a glimmering gem-like quality to her. They were, in a word, stunning to look at.

Understanding her compliance, Draco reached out and touched the smooth side of the egg in his exploration, and curiosity. Immediately from within a welcoming warmth and a deep purring connected with him, down to the very core of his bones where the recesses of his magic welled from him. The sensation was as dazzling as much as it was foreign and in equal measure. As he pulled away it ceased as the connection was severed.

From beside him, Hermione leaned herself up on her elbows and out of the tangle of their clothed bodies to peek at their surroundings, and absentmindedly stroke on a section of scales that rested at the tops of their heads. In response to the show of affection, the great Dragon nestled her jaw further downward as she hummed her pleasure in the connection. The very tip of her tail – tapering much like that of a snake, with no barbs nor frill as the spines down her back all but dwindled in size to pebble-like nubs by that point, wriggled slowly at the very tip in an automatic response.

"Oh! The nest." Hermione exclaimed reverently in a hushed tone. Her hand still stroking as she sat up fully. Her head was only inches below the leathery skin of the wing-top above them. The girl smiled happily, though the weariness around her eyes had receded somewhat, it was still present when she expressed her gladness. She looked up and behind her, craning her neck, and continued to look around her at where they were.

Amused by her excitement, the Dragon purred gently as she chuckled. She watched as Hermione gently arranged herself to see everything around her; Theo curled up on his side, his breath moving his body peacefully. Her brother, Tyt'o, as his occasional inward breath created a light snore, his face at ease in his sleeping repose. Her attention turned then to the eggs, as there were four of them. One particularly close to her, she reached out hesitantly before turning to Imri to beg permission. Her head had nary moved much since they had awoken, and the slow blink was the only sign she gave her.

Jubilantly, Hermione placed her hands on the smooth surface of the egg and her copper color eyes lit up with wonder as Draco shifted his legs around to sit behind her, leaning to his side so he could spy over her shoulder what she was doing. Her smile was totally unbridled as she stroked the silken sides in a loving gesture.

From behind her, Draco stroked her shoulder over her tunic and absentmindedly kissed her as he did. In witness to the young affections, the Dragon watching over them benevolently simply watched and hummed a gentle tune of approval.

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	44. Chapter 44

**This year has been hell. I buried four loved ones over a short period of time. Each time I tried to unfurl myself from the devastation, it felt like I got socked in the guts with it again.**

 **I've regretted putting this story to bed for as long as I have, but I just haven't had the emotional energy to pour into it, and I went adrift as to where I was really going with it for a long time.**

 **Thank you to all the people who have joined this journey, and my apologies to those I left hanging in these many, many months.**

 **I promise: I am going to persist. It might be a slow persistence, but I will try to start my creative juices once again.**

 **Warning for this chapter: gore, and grossness. Just so you know. In case you were going eat anything prior or during maybe? If you're sensitive.**

 **Obligatory disclaimer pertaining to intellectual rights having to do with the names of some of the characters, and their origins. The OCs are mine, the concept is mine, but I stole JKRs action figures and put them in my own sandbox so I could play with them.**

 **Chapter 44**

He woke that morning in another pool of his own perspiration. His limbs and joints felt numb as though he had slept on them wrong all through the night, and his head was pounding in time with his frantically beating heart. He ran his hands through his dark waves, raking his fingernails over his scalp trying to abate the inflamed sensation beneath his scalp, but to no avail.

He grasp to his bedside to seek water, and his palm met with his pitcher. He gulped at the coolness as though a man dying of thirst, for his insides felt as though they were desert-dry with drought. After a few moments, the throbbing in his skull lessened slightly and he lowered himself back into the pillows and quilts of his bed, and looked up vacantly at the canopy above him. His mind working its way back to the dreams he had just woken from. Fire, and ash, burning and ravaging everything and everyone. It had been the same for most nights, the ones he could remember anyway.

Not one to bow to the fore ordainment of another force, he willed himself to remember the details from which he had roused himself on purpose, simply unwilling or unable to watch any such more devastation from his minds eyes anymore. The dreams were always the same, and yet always different. Scenes of destruction and devastation, and beneath the roaring of flames that consumed everything he could see, and as far as he could see, there was an utterance beneath it all. A voice he could not place, or a sound he could not catalogue, yet it was one he knew.

It was insidious and cruel, wrought with anger and maliciousness. Though what it said, he could never remember or deduce, but it haunted him. It lingered with him in the mornings, and the miasma of it floated like a sickness around his mind until the day was almost done, and his head was soon to lay upon his pillow once more. And then it would come again.

Sometimes it was houses within the vast green of the rich lands he ruled of as Lord. Sometimes it was the castle in which he grew up in. The faces of the people he had known as a boy dissolving within the molten liquid of fire as it consumed them all as though they were nothing. Their screams echoed in his ears as they called to him. Screamed for mercy for it to end. Their agonies were relentless, their voices raw as the fire devoured them at its will.

Yet through these nightmarish scenes that dogged him every night, he had not once seen _her_ within them. It was the one constant that gave him some ability to endure each day he woke, and continued to seed and grow his plans. _She_ was never one of the charred skeletons that would fell to the ground; the bones of the corpse nothing more than decaying ash from the mouth of the ravenous beast made of fire.

Yet every face he had lain eyes on in his life, in one night or another, was on the stage of the theatrics of his recurring nightmares. His mother shrieked and screamed as she gouged into her own bubbling flesh with her fingers, the searing heat causing it to melt away with every pass her hands made. She cleaved herself to the bones beneath right before his very eyes, calling to him to save her. Calling until her voice was raw, and her skin melting away while her pleas died.

Childhood companions screamed in agony as their fine gowns erupted in fiery bursts against their exposed skin before welts formed as they began to bubble. Their screams echoing in the infernos endlessly. And yet **she** was absent.

It both relieved and concerned him. At first he didn't realize that she was purposefully negated from his horrific nightly hallucinations. But it wasn't too many nights past that he realized the people he was seeing were all those he knew in some way. Fellow Lords, enemies of his House, acquaintances, his own family. Anyone he'd ever lain eyes on, their faces sparked recognition with him. From within him, the gnawing of uncertainty kept at him.

He swung his body to the side of his bed, and ran a hand down his face as he rose. His body tired, and his mind tormented by the agony he endured within his mind every night. _Soon,_ he reassured himself. _It would be soon._

 _She could feel him now, as he rose for the day, and she lifted her head from the perch of her claws beneath the elegantly horned length of her jaw. If she had lips, she would have peeled them back over her teeth and grinned her pleasure as her little worm toiled endlessly in his mind over these reveries he suffered over and over again._

 _Her eyes narrowed and she nestled herself down again as the magic within her core simmered like a river of molten lava pouring from the fissures of the earth, and she contemplated another dream to weave for him._

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The sun had long peeked itself up from the horizon to begin its long journey across the heavens, and the light had changed much of the sky by this time. Though, from beneath the light gold of living membrane that acted as the canopy overhead, it was dulled considerably. Their location was further nested amid the peaks surrounding them, and the lee of the mountainside created this place in which they found their refuge. Its shape lessened any direct sunlight that tried to creep its way in, and thus the pairs of sleeping humans within the Dragon nest slumbered still without a care or bother.

Waking within moments of the other, Draco and Hermione had scooted together quietly in the nest to share the others embrace, and exchange some soft kisses together. They whispered softly to the other as they played gently with each other's hands and explored the others face from such an intimate distance they had never had before this point.

Hermione's hair had come undone, and her soft curls lay bunched beneath her head and over Draco's arm. He touched her hair openly, exploring its texture and participating in the wonder of such a foreign intimacy as he'd never known. Though innocent in their playfulness, they exchanged little kisses and sighs as they spoke quietly together and exchanging edicts of affection and sweetness. Her feet had entwining with his, as they had slowly cuddled closer together into each other's arms, their faces only inches apart.

His gray eyes were darkened by the artificial change in light around them, as hers were as well. Her smiles were shy at first as she touched his jaw and the bridge of his nose, experiencing his skin in earnest and with careful observation.

The smell of her skin was something he felt he could never tire from. How it was feminine, and sweet. A scent he had come to know as distinct to her solely, but grounded with an earthy base faintly reminiscent of horse. He commented as such, playfully, and she smiled proudly now, and touched her nose to his in a gesture that made his eyes flutter closed as he felt the whisper of her lips dance across hers. They were so close he could feel the warmth of her, and as she moved from side to side he pushed forward and connected with her.

Tenderly he kissed her as he held her smaller body in his arms, no longer concerned or acknowledging anything more than this. Without rushing he deepened his efforts and added the soft and wet attention of the tip of his tongue to respectfully beg entrance into the recesses of her. A request she granted with a feminine sound that drove a sudden urge within him to squeeze her utterly flush to his body.

The moment he was met with her tongue, he thought he might collapse inward from the desire that coursed through the heat of his blood. The ache at his center pulled him to her and unconsciously he rocked into her. Though the kisses were met and received equally, at the contact with the throbbing extremity, her eyes opened in surprise. Through their connected lips she gasp with shock and she pulled back slightly.

Both panting, he realized he had pushed too far. She gave a shy smile of apology to him, and kissed him gingerly again on the cheek.

"I –" She stammered, trying to detail her own embarrassment. "Have never been so close..." she fought desperately to maintain her eye contact and failed. "I should not have…" Draco shook his head and whispered, rubbing his cheek along hers.

"I understand." He said in a soft tone. "I will make no demands of you that you do not wish to give freely." He added and she bit her lip nervously as she blinked her lashes. Watching her, he decided that the gesture would drive him to ruin should he watch much longer, and he sighed gently as he rolled away slightly. A break in contact would surely help him to ease back from his more…. Baser inclinations.

"You have never made any such demand, Draco." She said. "Not once. You have always been gentle with me, and I am always safe in your arms, with your kisses." He nodded as he rolled his head to the side to look at her again.

"I will never give you reason not to be safe with me." He promised, moving a piece of her hair behind her ear, and trailing his fingertips down it to its end. His voice dropped lower still. "Should you want me, I have a want for you to be my wife, Hermione. I would never dare give you cause to fear me."

His admonition brought a smile to her face so large that he was certain he had never seen anything so lovely, and she placed her own hand over his. "I wish for this as well." She whispered, and leaned in again to kiss him once more.

As their lips danced gently after their confessions laid them bare to the other, he remained on his back as they kissed, though his hands tangled into her hair and she edged her chest up on to his, until an unexpected rustling next to them caused them to stop completely and lie still as they waited out the interruption.

The indentation of the nest that surrounded them was padded with vast clumps of wool, some type of long grass, and animal hides long-softened by body heat and wear. But surrounding them in the next was the end of a long golden tale, scaled and shiny, that had moved every slightly. In a subtle move, it has begun to wiggle very slightly, showing signs that the owner of the tail was as awake as they were. The two glanced at each other to see the red of a blush blooming over both their features. Hermione smiled, and Draco returned it as he rolled away slightly, leaning up again and offering her his hand to do so as well.

The clearance of the wing above them was shallow and they could only just sit up together. Within the dim lighting, dark and gold-hued from the filtering light from outside, they were framed between two eggs to either side of them. Beyond those eggs were the bodies of Theo and Tyt'o –still sleeping peacefully between a pair of eggs as well.

Draco found himself smiling widely. _They had made it!_ He realized. The days of trekking into the abysmal and unknown mountains and forests, and thorough craggy formations of rock had lead them to this!

From beside him there was a breathy chuckle that sounded as smooth as silk. _**I feel your excitement from here, little rider.**_ Imri said playfully, and as softly as she could. From the outside of the wing, the Dragon readjusted herself just enough that she loosened the coil surrounding the four of them and the four eggs she guarded within her nest. The movement caused their remaining companions to stir to wakefulness.

It was Tyt'o who rose to sit first, though with his greater height he had to slump himself down by bowing his back. His copper eyes had only but to look across from him to see his sister, hair unraveled and free, laying openly next to a man that was _decidedly_ neither her intended, nor her suitor, and he narrowed his eyes fiercely at Draco. A clear warning.

Before Draco could so much as raise his hands in show of harmlessness to Tyt'o, an excited gasp sprang from Theo as he, too, awoke to his new surroundings. "Great Goddess!" He exclaimed as he took in his surroundings. "We found it! We made it!" Hermione smiled as well and clapped her hands against her mouth as she nodded excitedly, and from all around them there was movement from Imri as she raised her wing to uncover them. She chuckled again, delighted at the sound of Theo's enthusiasm.

 _ **You did well, my riders.**_ She praised, and raised her head upward to stretch out her neck. From all around them the light of the morning poured through the protected side of their cavern across the most magnificent and awesome thing any of them had ever seen.

They were surrounded completely in a cavern lined with gold.

The gold coated the walls as though the mountain was made from it. It had smoothed over the craggy interior to soften the sharp edges, and each of the balked in turn from awe. It glinted spectacularly against the beautiful Dragon curled up around them, with a smug and knowing expression on her face.

Hermione realized that it was an _age_ since a mortal being had entered the nesting cave of a Dragon, and she glanced at her brother with her mouth agape.

Though they were not of a House without means, still, theirs was one that possessed no troves of riches, nor great jewels. The line of Gresham's had come to power amid an old turmoil amongst warring Lords in the lands to assume lordship over these lands. Their riches lay in the bounties collected from the Earth, toiled by the people who lived here, and the food brought forth through their pains.

No, these were riches the likes of which none of the young adults had ever beheld before. The Gresham heir met his sisters gaping expression with one of consternation, as though to instruct her to reign in her awe, if only slightly.

But it was Theo who broke the silence as he burst forth in question. "What is this place?" Tyt'o hissed slightly at the lack of modesty, to which Imri merely chuckled.

 _ **Still, young one.**_ She whispered to Tyt'o, and touched his shoulder with crest of her nearest wings. _**This is the last Golden Nest.**_ Her voice was smooth, and the tone filled with pride and nostalgia as she swung her head around to see him fully. _**Every Dragon ever born is homed in a place such as this.**_ He smiled beatifically as he listened.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He whispered, and Imri chuckled indulgently.

 _ **Your wonderment is music to my ears.**_ Her great head settled near again as she had perched it atop the crest of the nest, and Hermione leaned into the Dragon once again and signed. _**Oh, but it is good to see your faces again after such a long time.**_ The Dragon said, slowly closing her eyes as she breathes in a deep sigh and exhaled. She peered from one Gresham sibling to the other. _**And how you two have become so strong and sure. Your magic hums under your skin and I can smell how strong it is now.**_ Hermione stroked the golden scales appreciatively.

Her brother kicked her with his foot, and she turned to him. He nodded his head back and forth to Theo and Draco silently, and she brightened at his reminder to her.

"Oh" She exclaimed, sitting up higher, suddenly excited. "Dragon Mother, this is Theo," she gestured to the dark haired young man with whom the Dragon had taken particular interest only moments prior. He bowed to her then at the introduction as much as he could while seated and she blinked slowly in benevolent acknowledgement. "And Draco," she said, this time touching Draco's forearm as she spoke his name. The Dragon tilted her head to get a better look at him and she took a quick snuffing breath inward in his direction, only to puff quickly outward, blowing both his and her hair back from their faces rapidly. She made no similar accepting gesture to this young man, but neared him speculatively. Her green flecked golden eyes peering widely at him, considering him. Draco found himself suddenly very uncomfortable under the inspection as his awareness of how dwarfed he was by her sheer mass was all-to in his mind.

Her gaze was so intense that he found himself frozen in place under it, unable to look away as the head neared dangerously close to him. The deepness of their gold color transfixed him as she peered into the depths of him without flinching, as though to take in not only his appearance, but the very core of who he was. The pounding of his heart in his ears was the only noise he could hear in those long moments under her examination, that he prayed she wouldn't hear it. He swallowed then, loudly. And finally, the lid of the great eye blinked. Quickly, as it did to serve its function. And the Dragon took a deep breath in as she backed away, her gaze still pinning him down.

The sudden tension in the air was confusing to the three remaining, and Hermione found herself stumbling as she spoke suddenly, not considering her words. "There was no time to send word which riders were going to come with us." She glanced back. "Draco and Theo were… Unexpected." She admitted softly.

The Dragon leaned her snout downward, saying nothing, but her tail tightened very slightly around the ring she had formed protecting the nest before she rose up, and up until she stood entirely and bowed her spine upward, stretching like a great cat. Her stare never wavered from Draco.

She puffed one last warm breath and leaned down to Tyt'o to rub her chin across the top of his head. _**It has been a time since your last good meal. Stay with our eggs and I will bring something back for you.**_ The Dragon didn't pause for any response, but stalked gracefully out from the nest and through the curve of the entrance to the mountains outside, leaving the four interlopers to their own devices.

Both Draco and Theo's jaws had gone slack watching the form of the Dragon as she stood – her body taking up the bulk of the space inside the cavern, and in all her mighty glory as she left that same cave in complete awe of the size and mass of her.

Their exposure to Dragon-kind had been so infrequent; having only seen Goldoduur from a distance in comparison, and never at close range like this. It was jarring, now, to see how utterly dwarfed they were by this beast.

"So what are we to do now?" Theo questioned, looking to both Tyt'o and Hermione. Tyt'o sighed and stretched his arms upward as he yawned openly.

"We do as bade; stay here and wait. If Imri is able to leave the eggs for a short period, it means that the primary incubation is likely through and the babies are going to come soon. Their warmth only needs to be maintained, not stoked overly." Theo cocked his head, curious about the information offered.

"How does that work, precisely?" He asked, turing his attention then to the egg nearest himself, and carefully smoothed his hands over the pearlescent surface. "It's so warm!" He said, finding himself fascinated and excited at being able to touch and feel this object –after so much talk and discussion of it- finally. Tyt'o opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione clucked her tongue at her brother to catch his attention. Her hand raised to bid him stop.

"First thing must be first, brother." She reminded him solemnly. Her gaze leveled at him expectantly. "We must tell them about the magic." And though her expression was serious, her hands had fallen into her lap to twist betwixt each other as she sighed then. He nodded.

"And so we must." He agreed, and she nodded. The young Heir considered his companions then. Their persons had become both familiar, and trusted: It was something he had not expected, but nevertheless, here they found themselves.

"Generations ago," he began slowly, "There was a great and terrible war between peoples of the lands. A struggle for power between the lined of Lords, and the people who toiled their lands as serfs bound to those Lords. The Lords cleaved of those people not only their freedoms, but their livelihoods as well. The people of the land were made to work the lands, but own not of them. They were to grow foods on the lands, but only keep what bare amounts they needed to survive. They were to raise the stock, train the animals, slaughter and salt, milk and carry, sow and toil, and all for Lords who shared nothing of the bounties to those people. The people lived in poverty and suffered illness and wear, nearly starved. They suffered for generation upon generation.

It was from a family such as this that a man by the name of Hammon rose to challenge the order of the Lords. His wife had taken ill and when Hammon cast aside his smithing hammer and his heavy leathers in need to care for her, the Lord had him whipped for his insolence. Hammon was the primary blacksmith to that Lord, and a master of his craft. And as Hammon lay bleeding, his wife lay beside him dying of an illness that could have been cured with herbs. Herbs controlled by the Lords and his healers, and made inaccessible to the common man.

She passed when Hammon took ill from infection of his wounds, and died without having bade love to her husband. When Hammon recovered, he was enraged and repudiate his family's servitude to the Lord who ruled those lands. He rallied peoples in his village to his cause, crying the unfairness of the conditions, and the deprivation they were forced to endure. It was unjust, unfair, and cruel. After so many years of oppression, his cause struck chords in the hearts of men and women in their village, and they rallied to the cause.

Fields were left untilled, livestock to fend for themselves, horses unshod, mills stilled and food was not sent to the Lords Houses. The protests were finally felt by the Lord, and it was only then that the Lord agreed to meet with the self-proclaimed instigator of this revolt.

And meet with him he did, and Hammon was led to the Lords castle, under protection of a white banner of peace, and he was run through with a blade. His body was cut in pieces and sent to the villages who had rebelled. His head left on a spike at the castle gate to remind anyone else what rebellion against a Lord wrought upon you.

Hammon's son was Emris, and he had magic. It was not uncommon for the common people to find that magic sprung up where it wished, but it was rare among them. Much as it can be now. But Emris was possessed of those magics, and he was powerful. All his life his father had shielded that power from the attentions of the Lords, and the village elders for fear they would kill him outright. That such a power should not exist outside of the family lines from a Great House of Lords.

With his mother dead, and his father butchered and murdered, Emris left his village. Penniless, and friendless, he abandoned his Lords lands and his position as the Lords' Smith.

It was Emris who travelled for years of his life to come finally to Morvan Rove; the lands of the Dragons, and treat with the Great Golden Rulers of Might and Justice. And was bid to stay, and welcomed to bind himself to a Dragon – the greatest Dragon of them all: Endryro, the Great Seer.

It was from this union that the House of Gresham was made. For Emris' name was Gresham. And in friendship, Endryro allowed him to build his castle in the protected lee of the mountain valley, and rule as Lord over the lands, for Emris had a kind heart. When word spread of the union between Dragon and mortal man, it was like a beacon of hope for the peoples of the lands who had so long suffered at the hands of greed.

And thus, peoples fled their Lords, and the lands their families had toiled for generations before, and they came to beg of Emris that they be allowed sanctuary upon the hallowed grounds of the Dragons lands. For they were vast, and lush, and fertile. For Dragons protected their territories wildly and viciously. No mortal man, Lord or not, dared to try to encroach.

And the Lords felt the pinches of their belts and the loss of coin, and dispatched troops to the lands to reclaim their 'stolen properties', as they claimed. Those forces were met with fire, and ash, and death, and nevermore did and Lords come to reclaim the peoples whom had fled from their cruelty.

And this was how our House came to be. Our ancestor bound himself and his magic to that of a Dragon. In friendship and prosperity, to defend and honor. For all of his descendants."

A quiet had fallen over the group as they listened to the story, and maintained as they waited for Tyt'o to continue. Draco cocked his head to the side. "But how does that matter to us?" He questioned. "What say you about the magic you spoke of before, and how it has changed Theo and I?"

Tyt'o glanced at his sister, and her expression grew pained. She lifted a hand to beg him still himself and she faced her paramour with an earnest countenance. "What this means," She began, "is that to bind himself to the Dragon, he was to share in its life-force. Both magical and physiological. It is to say that to ride a Dragon, you must share your magic with it, and become a part of what makes it such." Draco glanced between Tyt'o and Hermione quickly.

"But Theo and I have shared no such magic with anything. Anyone. Not since we have arrived here." She fidgeted nervously, her eyes darting to her brother once more.

"Not entirely true," she murmured. "Do you remember the water falls at Dragon Tears?" She asked softly, and he nodded. "It was the first time we brought you into the forest – _A Dragon's Forest-_ and bid you share with us in drink and intention. The feeling of that new magic all around you? Within you?" He cocked his head to the side at her words, like a curious pup.

"What could that possibly matter?" He asked, and she shifted again, and took his hand in her own. Connecting the warmth of herself to him as she continued onward. "Magic is magic, isn't it? 

"The magic that surrounds these lands is ancient and imbued into the very earth beneath us. These lands were Dragon lands for a thousand generations before came to by mortal men. They have a magical presence unlike anything in the world – all Dragon lands are thus." She paused. "Do you remember the hyter sprites, and the brownies, the little spirits everywhere while we were in the woods?" He nodded.

"Such things exist in few other places, for there are men there to chase them away by cutting the wood, and tilling the earth beneath. They have no protection from harm as they do here, as the magic is strong and fierce." She smiled then. "It was through those seasons of celebration that those magics… recognized you as one of their own." She trailed off slightly, and Tyt'o continued onward.

"This magic is not endemic to you. You two are outsiders to us; you were not raised here. By drinking from the waters and taking the rites of our Gods, you have been baptized in it. The food, the waters you bathed in; all of these influenced your magics. It is how you came to hear the Calling." Hermione's eyes watered as her expression grew pleading.

"You are all but blood to us now. At least the Dragons will see it so." He finished finally.

But even as Draco's expression still showed questions, Theo picked up immediately, speaking in a kind of whisper. "Your ancestor was bound to this land in order to stay, wasn't he?" The silence that followed was the only answer they could give, and even Tyt'o found himself looking downward at his hands.

"The magic you need to ride a Dragon is given _by_ the Dragons. You are blessed with it, and bound to it, also." She whispered, and Draco squinted partly.

"Why then is this so dire? We have magic already. We've had it all our lives. Hells fires, we've spent the whole of summer and winter _refining_ our ability to conjure and use those magics. How can that be changed." Tyt'o sighed, and looked to his two friends.

"It hasn't changed. Your magic will always be your magic. But too, now, it will be the magic that you will share with your Dragon, and she will share with you when she grows into it fully." He took a deep breath and pinned his stare to his sister finally; their twin colored eyes meeting briefly as he again turned to their two friends. "As she thrives, so shall you. As she grows, so shall you. And should she suffer, so should you."

Theo tilted his head and looked slowly at Draco, a pale wash coloring his face. Draco looked much the same. "So if something happens to our Dragon, our magic-"

"Will be gone as well." Hermione interrupted with a quiet whisper.

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	45. Chapter 45

**There's a reason this is rated M, and it's definitely not for use of naughty phrases. Remember that long winded cautionary at the beginning of this story? Well, stuff is coming. I dislike spoiling, but hopefully you're open minded. So we'll leave it at that.**

 **Chapter 45**

"The line must be thicker than this." He said distractedly, and poured more salt to thicken the circle where he had just connected the two ends. From behind him the Red Dragon huffed, but Tom barely glanced back to look at it again.

 _ **You could have had one of your lesser worms do this for you.**_ But Tom only shook his head as he positioned the polished stones, kneeling to make sure their distances apart were perfectly proportioned.

"Nay, this is a thing I must ensure is perfect." He replied, and the Dragon tossed her head in annoyance. Meanwhile, Tom settled the burning sticks of incense into the ground at the final point and came back to face the Dragon, and kneeled. "Are you ready?" He asked the Dragon, and received a scoff as his answer. There might have been a distinct roll of eyes as well, but Tom was already settling into his position with his legs crossed, and his palms atop his knees.

He dug deeply into himself, to the parts of his core that were the most concentrated, and he began.

His chanting began quietly at first, barely more than a whisper that the Dragon could tell. But as he focused himself she could feel the tendrils of his mortal brand of magic begin to take ahold of her outer barriers, the tingling like a heated tickle across the insides of her scales. She allowed a shudder down her form to ease herself into the contact and closed her own eyes as well in the moment.

It was then, suddenly, that she felt the sharp prickles all within her, like hooks had formed and were..… They were _pulling._ She rose her head and her chest in an unexpected panic as her large eyes burst open and rip free from this feeling, but _she could not._ From all around her, and all within her, she was held and bound and unable to move even a mite further.

The mortal on the ground sat there peacefully focused and glowing brightly with the power he was pulling from her. She tried to open her maw to snarl and found that it, too, was frozen in place as the mortal held her firm in his magical grip, and she pulled _harder_ away still.

 _Oh, Great Shadows did it_ _ **hurt!**_ The Dragon shut her eyes fast and tried to breathe away the feeling of having her magic slowly ripped from the very flesh of her body as her mouth remained shut and unable to move, unable to cry out, or snarl or snap this small fool into her mouth and crush his bones like they were twigs. It burned within her as nothing had before.

Sensing the pain from the Dragon, Tom pressed forward as quickly as he possible through his task. It was not expected that the Dragon would be so pained by the process. _But then again, it was not as though the spell he'd used had spoken of any kind of harm to the beast he was using it with._ He reminded himself.

Pushing the possibility from his mind, Tom forged onward as he protected himself over the cascading miles between his ancestral lands and those of Morvan Rove. The speed in which his mind could travel over this kind of distance was astronomically quicker than by foot, sea or beast. The dull pallor of the wintered lands passed beneath him as he pushed his mind onward more and more, until a dull glow could be seen on the horizon of his minds eyes.

Those were the wards of Morvan Rove. The barriers created by the Gold Dragons to protect their lands, and safeguard the beings within. Tom found himself grinning wickedly as he pressed onward even faster.

The great Red Dragon squeezed tighter her eyes as she tried to breathe through to constant feeling of ripping from within the core of her hulking body. _Was this what death would feel like, when it came for her finally_ , she wondered then.

Slowing down as he approached the glowing transparent wall that stretched upward in a great arc, like an eggshell all around where he had arrived, Tom got straight to work, and placed his palms on the surface. He closed his eyes to concentrate himself on the barrier.

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It was cold this morning, even beneath the heavy quilting atop her. Ursa burrowed deeper into the covers to try to find some shred of comfort there, peeking towards the fire to see if any embers remained. All that was left was ashes and soot, and cold all around the room.

There was barely any light out at all, and she shivered in the indentation her body had created. She was still reticent to share Loren's bed on every night and often found herself more pleased to come again into a room that was not used. But she did acquiesce that it was at the cost of sharing body warmth with her Lord that was direly desirable during the long and cold winter storms.

The Lady reached out and grabbed her cold robes from the side-table near her bed and donned them quickly, slipping her feet into slippers as well to cover herself wherever possible. She plucked split wood and arranged it upright in a conic pattern and struck a match to the tinder she placed beneath. She fanned the flames with her magic, gentle coaxing more air to surround the budding flames, crackling as the frayed ends of wood began to catch. She nestled into the chair nearby, leaning herself as close to the heat source as she could, and closed her eyes.

The castle was quiet this morn, though the sun had not fully risen into the sky even and the House staff would still only be waking. But it was more that the silence was present because her children, and Lords wards were all still adrift in the mountain peaks that it was so.

Into her lower abdomen crept a sad, and sinking feeling. _It had been so long since she had seen her children's smiles that she ached inside._ The Lady rubbed at the feeling at the top of her pelvic bone absently, soothing the feeling with her fingertips and with warmth she conjured. It was only after a sharp pain that her eyes blinked back open and she inhaled in discomfort.

The ache had intensified unexpectedly, no longer a dull and ignorable sensation. She frowned in confusion; it had been handfuls of years since she had any feeling in that part of her body, as it was the cost that had been paid.

Curious, now, that for no reason she could determine, such a little complaint would come up without pre-empt. She made a mental note to send word to the Healer of the House for more herbs, and perhaps to speak to a midwife on her behalf. It must be time for her seasons to change, she mused sadly. Though it had been scores of years since she had experienced the monthly bloods of a fertile woman, it was only a matter of time until her body changed again as the Gods of nature willed it to.

She patted herself nostalgically, remembering the joy she had experienced carrying children. How wonderful the fullness had been, and how utterly magical their movements had been while still within her womb. Her eyes managed to water then unexpectedly, blurring down the vision of the growing fire within her hearth before her. It seemed there were still a few things she had not yet forgiven of her Lord husband, she realized. Perhaps it was all just a delayed emotional reaction to having both her precious children so far away, and facing perils she could not shield them from.

She wiped the tears away from her eyes and steeled herself. These thoughts and regrets were years too late for her to ruminate over now. There would never be a way to go back and change the choices that had been made for her. She simply had to make the best of what she faced before her and conquer each challenge as it rose.

Rising slowly, she noted that the ache in her pelvis extended to her lower back and she stretched as she rose to her full height, allowing her arms to rise above her hands. Perhaps it was all just a matter of fortifying the mattress, she questioned, and made another note to speak to her personal attendant that she could have it build up to greater comfort.

Rubbing her hands together absently, she breathed into them as she retreated back to bed. Unable to see it from her vantage point, the backside of her muslin dressing gown was peppered with the faintest touch of red.

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Over the time that she had spent in this foreign House, Narcissa had discovered that despite raging fires in certain rooms, there were always pockets within the Castle Keep that were unable to be heated. Having migrated here from a more agreeable, and temperate location she avoided these whenever possible, and with fervidity.

One such disastrous discovery was that he Library had a multitude of such pockets, which made it such that hovering hear the fireplace was the most sensible place for her to perch herself unless she wanted to sit in silence in any of the other sitting rooms, or a dining Hall. These choices all lacked reading materials, however, and were less adequate than simply enduring the Library. The real problem was that she found herself in the company of Rune Mora more often than not.

Certainly Rune was no bother; the Master kept to herself and acknowledged Narcissa once or twice in a congenial and passive manner. It was Narcissa that was uncomfortable in her presence, and she couldn't put her finger on why, exactly.

Since her semi break-down in her presence, she had retreated greatly into herself, concerned that there would be lingering questions about her well-being, and offers of comfort she would have to endure as a result. And though she felt herself continuously in a state of expectancy for one of these; they never came. It did seem, for all practical purposes, that Master Mora had all but forgotten those exposing moments.

And only in her mind could Narcissa be quietly honest with herself, because she hadn't determined whether she was relieved, or slightly annoyed.

Throughout the long years of her emotionally cold marriage, Narcissa had slowly allowed the ice of her Lord Husbands temperament to become her own, and in those years she had no longer come to expect things from others such as emotional comfort, or gentleness by his hands or countenance of any manner. Why in the name of all the Gods would this be something that would even register as a concern, she found herself wondering.

Yet here, through the painfully silent afternoons, she had found herself physically aware of any time Rune was sharing the same space as she, and it was as an oddity in her mind.

And with the cold snow falling more with every day, there was no place outside the stone walls for her to escape to, and thus with every day she felt herself slipping ever-deeper into a whirl of confusion she could not quite name.

If she had to put her finger on when it had all began, it must have been with the noise Rune had continued to make. At first, drastically irritating and impossible to stomach. It had cut through the silence of the room as Narcissa had been deeply engrossed in a historical text containing the self-written chronical of a man by the name of Hammon when there was a distinctive _wet_ sound. The memory, still fresh in her mind, played back with ease for her, though it had occurred only a few days prior.

 _Narcissa had barely registered it at first, but the disturbance had been notable enough for her to lose her place on her page as she'd glanced about briefly._

 _Noting nothing amiss outside of the Master who sat across her at the opposite end of the fireplace, she browsed her paragraphs yet again, nestling into another comfortable position as she resumed the tale. It wasn't but a moment past that she heard it again. The sound of something wet, and, strangely, sliding? She darted her blue eyes to Rune's stilled form to watch her turn a page, enjoying the words of her own tome._

 _Narcissa blinked, wondering if the silence and confinement of being perpetually indoors was finally getting to her. She rubbed her eyes a moment, and readjusted herself briefly before she took a deep breath and looked out the window at the blindingly bright snow that fell around the castle. She glanced back down to the words in her book, allowing her vision to blur for a moment as she slipped herself into a state of pause._

 _The motion of Rune's hand caught her attention as her right index finger raised to her mouth, and passed over the surface of her tongue, creating a wet sliding noise that now seemed to be so quiet, Narcissa was astounded she heard it at all. Watching the motion of her digit passing over the moist muscle caused a rash of very involuntary tingles to form at the crown of her head and flow downward over her shoulder, and settle within the cradle of her body._

 _Utterly mesmerized by both the motion, sound, and subsequent reaction her body had experienced, she was utterly frozen in place for a few heartbeats. She must have made some noise, for it was just as Rune placed her finger at the top of the new page to turn it, her attention was called to her fellow bibliophile. To her horror, Narcissa discovered herself staring openly as those blue eyes met her own and she realized as she looked at them, that they were not blue at all, but a shade of gray added in. Or some other tone of color she could find no name for._

 _She blinked quickly and shut her book with a thumping noise that echoed throughout the library. To her credit, Rune looked utterly nonplussed at the little frizzle Narcissa found herself working into._

" _Something gone amiss?" She asked the blond lazily, and the faintest motion of her eyebrow gave whisper to the Lady that she was being cheeky. She suppressed a huff that dared to try to exit her mouth and set her lips in a straight line. Narcissa straightened herself fully, and donned a haughty expression._

" _Never." She defended in a dismissive, disinterested tone. "What gave you that impression?" The Master tutted a quiet tone._

" _You were staring." Narcissa huffed delicately, and crafted her words as carefully as she could, keeping her eyes as neutral as possible. The Master held her gaze and raised her finger slowly to her mouth and licked the tip in a painfully slow gesture before reapplying the moistened tip to the page in her book and slowly turned the linen over. Mortifyingly, Narcissa felt the same tingling rise up from under layers of her skin and wash over her in waves of prickling tingles. She wanted to despise how wonderful it felt, but she absolutely could not. Not that her expression gave away the conflict._

 _The Master regarded her with a tilt to her head that expressed some curiousness at why the Lady stared her down so intently. She hadn't returned her attention to her book, but she raised the same index finger slowly to her mouth once again, and pointedly ran it down the length of her tongue. It was subtle, and the sight of the light pink tip completely captivating. Rune curved the end just slightly, playfully even, as she slowly shut her mouth and applied the finger to the page below her._

 _The Lady shook her head slightly, questioning then what sort of madness must have befallen her, for this pitiful state she found herself in now. Completely entranced by such a simple gesture- Mid-admonishment the tidal wave of shivering broke out one more time in its same pathway over her body. It dawned on her: It was magic that she felt! Rune's magic was-, she halted her train of thought and leaned back a slight bit, speculating briefly._

 _The entrancement dashed, Rune returned her eyes to her book once again only for Narcissa to realize that the Master had turned several pages without browsing them, and had not turned back to them. The corner of her mouth twitched into her cheek and she scoffed into her mouth and nestled back into her chair more comfortably. She looked more closely at the book in the Masters lap. It looked familiar; red and gold binding with pages tipped in gold foil. She'd seen that book before today._

 _Smugly, she nestled her closed book into her lap. "There are certainly a number of interesting publications in this House, do not you think?" Rune did not look up._

" _A good number, if one can be the judge of such things." Narcissa continued._

" _Have you come across any chronicles of particular whilst here?" Rune paused what she was doing, but still kept her eyes to her pages._

" _It depends on what your interests speak to." She replied passively._

" _And what then of your current folio?" She moved in for the kill. "Had it captivated your interests keenly whilst you have been grounded here?"_

 _Rune raised her full attention to Narcissa, and closed the book quietly. Her eye color seemed smokier for some reason. "My interest has been captured here, Lady, that much is correct." Rune's expression seemed raw in that moment, and Narcissa found herself a little taken back by the sudden change in atmosphere._

" _And what then arrests your attention about this volume?" Her mouth had gone dry as she spoke, realizing all too quickly what path seemed to have appeared. Rune considered her a moment, as if observing Narcissa's subtle queues in posture and she shifted the book in her hands._

" _It's a beautifully crafted piece, though much of the beginning can seem stubborn. Recalcitrant even," the Master mused, tenderly fingering the golden edges of pages. How such a simple act could be so sensual, Narcissa was completely ignorant to. "Nevertheless, its pages hold troves of passionate expression. Very few books are crafted as such. Certainly, all books contain something of interest to someone." She raised her strange not-blue, not-gray eyes to Narcissa and held them fast. "But this one seems particularly extraordinary in my estimation. Like a diamond in the rough amongst these, it stands apart. Fascinating. Unexpected. Alluring, you might say." She paused. "I find it an impossible task to put it away from my mind."_

 _The silence following Rune's words was broken by what seemed to be Narcissa's deafening swallow. Perhaps that was only in her own ears? Her body was frozen, and yet she was warming in a way that was foreign. She struggled not to stammer. "It is only a book-" she managed before the movement of Rune making to stand halted her words in her mouth completely._

 _The Master's stride was impeccably smooth as she closed the distance between them, never taking her eyes from Narcissa until she stood just in front of her. The book was long forgotten now, and Rune reached up gently and stroked the soft expanse of Narcissa's cheek, her eyes fluttered at the sensation. Her rougher fingers danced over the edge of her chin to the other cheek before she broke contact._

" _It is not only a book." The Master whispered to Narcissa, and delicately traced the plumb flesh of Narcissa's lower lip. Without meaning to, her lips parted and the digit passed so closely to the wetness between them that the Lady nearly gasped at how the deliciously intimate gesture enticed her. But as quickly as it started, Rune pulled her hand back._

 _Her blue eyes opened in confusion at the break in physical contact to see the back of Rune's body as she walked towards the door._

Before this….. Occasion, her library companion had been present and already reading when Narcissa entered the room. But since, she had neither seen her at meals, nor spied her entering or exiting the vast room filled with books. She found this to be more irritating that she had anticipated. Each time she expected the Master to be there, each time she was rebuffed, she felt something hard in her gut that roiled angrily.

The trail that Rune's finger had taken across Narcissa's face had practically burned these last two days. In her disassociation from any others in this House, she'd frequently discovered herself tracing that same pathway in the following days. Over and over she touched it with her finger tips, reviving the scene in her mind, and each time finding herself caught between turmoil, and intoxication.

Her normally calm and controlled internal monologue was boiling over with questions, queries, and agonies over what was happening to her. Having come to her marriage _untouched_ , she was no stranger to the lusts a man brought into his bedroom, no matter how uncomfortable or disgusting they ever made her. She had long-ago committed herself to enduring the various attentions her Lord conscripted on her body. She had accepted that this was her purpose, though she did not relish it in any fashion, she did not react to it either. Not as it seemed he did. For never once, when the man had peeled his body from hers, bared or not, had she ever felt so much as the slightest stirring in her woman's body.

And yet now, here, in this strange place she could never consider home, and with a family at the very _brink of war_ with her own, she felt something she had never felt before; it was fire, and it was ice, and it coursed through her body like a raging storm that she had no idea how to control.

She could barely sit still, and when she did it was at a great effort of focus upon herself. All the while, all she could do was replay that scene where Rune's eyes had held hers, and how she had touched her so.

It had become a kind of madness, in a way, to feel such an intense sensation after a lifetime confined to unfeeling of anything possible. And yet again, on this morning as she had flung open the double wooden doors and entered the library, there was no other presence than her own. She felt the blood behind her face heat up and her brows draw together in a deep frown. The rushing in her ears was so loud, Narcissa didn't realize she had begun picking up side tables and hurling as far as her arms could heave them.

She flung her magic outward and tipped over chairs, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly as satisfying as giving into the whirlwind she felt inside of her. She threw the second chair over on its side with her bare hands, and raked her fists across the mantle above the fireplace, scattering books and candles all over the floor around her.

She shattered glass pillars and broke candlesticks, upended chairs and end tables. Each bit of destruction fueling the fire within her further, adding to the cyclone within herself that threatened to level everything around her into dust.

A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, the body attached to them sealing itself behind her. She struggled in the grip to try to break free, only to feel labored breaths at the side of her neck and a voice softly easing her back from her eruption. Shushing her tenderly.

Her heart hammered in her chest, adding movement to her violence, but the arms held her strong and firm and she was unable to wrench away from them. Struggling once more, she moved her magic into a fierce attack at the person binding her person, only to have her body covered in a cool, mildly tingling sensation that started all about the crown of her head and washed down over the rest over her body.

The familiarity of it caused her to jerk her head to the side through her disheveled hair. Through it she saw the face she had been seeking for these last days. The eyes that had captivated her then, did so now as well. And Narcissa was lost once more.

She whimpered softly as Rune closed the distance and sealed her lips over hers, still gripping her tightly from behind. Her lips were so soft, and her kiss so tender that Narcissa felt her anger dissipate and melt away as though it were nothing. THIS! This was what she wanted! This is the sensation she had so desperately sought. Rune's lips danced across hers with a delicacy that made Narcissa's head spin. Her soft tongue licked playfully at the joining, and Narcissa opened her lips invitingly as a groan of pleasure escaped her mouth.

Rune kissed her deeply, and fully, and the sensation was wildly exciting and delicious. Her tongue was firm and soft and exquisite as it played with Narcissa. Her tongue set a tempo of dance that had heat and tingling rushing into Narcissa's groin instantly, and her legs ached to wrap themselves around Runes hips.

The Lady moaned at the luscious feeling, and turned her body around to press flush into Rune's. The Master's arms moved around her body, pressing firmly against her as she crept her hands into Narcissa's soft blond hair, loosening the pins that held the elegant twists in place with her magic, and scraping her short fingernails gently along her scalp, down her shoulders, and around her waist. The sensation of the kisses and her touches made Narcissa gasp into Rune's mouth, and the Master skillfully sealed the gap, pressing her body forward assertively into Narcissa. The warmth growing steadily between them enveloping them in the passion firmly.

The foreignness of Rune's body against hers was exhilarating, the friction there causing her breasts to ache deliciously as she moved them over Rune's chest, and Rune gave a low growl as she moved her strong hands over Narcissa's clothed ribs, pointedly avoiding the soft mounds the Lady had pressed into her, she felt bereft at the little teasing Rune played at.

Panting, she opened her blue eyes pleadingly, and Rune touched her cheeks as she kissed them. Her mouth moving to her jaw as she placed delicate kisses, licking playfully and moving back to the joining of her neck and shoulder to suckle lightly.

Narcissa felt like she might keel over as her blood rushed through her veins and she wobbled on her feet, but Rune's strong arms steadied her. For a moment, the Master paused as Narcissa turned her head to the side, cutting of Rune's access to her neck. But the spell was hardly broken and Rune waited patiently for Narcissa to collect herself before she faced Rune fully. She traced the lines of her square jaw with her feminine, soft fingers. Back to her brown hair bound tightly at the nape of her neck. Narcissa's fingers itched to unravel it and comb her fingers through it. To feel the cascading strands draped across her skin as she lay naked beneath Rune's body.

Rune smirked knowingly at the Lady in her arms, as though she could hear the thoughts plainly. "If it is your wish, then it is my pleasure." Narcissa's chest was heaving and her body nearly slithering in her arms. She nodded and Rune's mouth met hers once again as the pair sighed into the each other's mouths once more. As Rune kissed her, she bent her back slightly, moving her arm around Narcissa's lower back and around her hip.

Into her mouth Narcissa whispered; "Yes."

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	46. Chapter 46

**I have no beta. Errors are my own bad. Don't hate me. Rated M for a reason.**

 **Chapter 46**

The trip from the library to the wooden door of Narcissa's room was nearly her undoing. With every glide of her steps she could feel the core of her body aching and begging and needing. Rune's steady paces kept the walk upbeat and her calm disposition aided Narcissa's anxieties of being seen as she led through the common areas of the keep, and up towards the rooms.

At the door to her private rooms, Rune held the door for her and closed it quietly. As the woman turned to speak to Narcissa, the Lady held her fingers to Rune's lips pleadingly. Her blue eyes begged that nothing break the reverie between them, and Rune nodded slowly. The tension in Narcissa's shoulders broke and Rune took the hand at her lips and began to kiss each fingertip in reverence. With each touch of her mouth, there was the faintest feeling of Rune's tongue. The sensation shot thrilling bolts of electricity through Narcissa. While one of Rune's hands cupped the hand she showered in kisses, she stepped behind her bringing Narcissa's bent elbow in at her side, and moved her mouth to Narcissa's ear.

With the same soft approach, Rune gently grazed her lips across the shell and wrapped an arm across the front of the Lady's ribs, just beneath Narcissa's breasts. _Gods, how this was awakening her!_ As Rune's left arm traveled down over the thick velvet and brocade of her dress, she applied the most sensuous pressure as she moved to Narcissa's hip to grip it firmly. The Lady couldn't help but gasp at the surge that erupted within her at the feeling it elicited.

Encouraged onward my the Lady's physical queues and utterly writhing bodily movements, Rune used her right hand to unhinge the clasps and work down the buttons on the dress. With each undone and her chemise beneath exposed, the cool air of her room tasted finally of her skin and caused her to shiver. She opened the dress fully and reverently floated kisses across her shoulder muscle, with its impeccably perfect skin, pulling the chemise away as she traveled.

Narcissa's breathing had grown heavy, and her loins practically throbbed under the attentions Rune was paying every reachable inch of her body. At one particular spot in the middle of her shoulder, Rune gently mouthed her flesh and Narcissa nearly came undone. Laving over it again with her tongue, the Master returned her left arm to reach around Narcissa's waist and as she delved a sensuous bite into the muscle, she raked her strong fingers over the top of Narcissa's thigh that nearly had her exploding.

The cry that escaped her throat was filled with equal part desperation and passion as the continuous teasing and touching brought her higher and higher with every second, until she thought she might expire. Never had hands performed such a dance to her body, and she was spellbound in the wake of the symphony they were striking within her. Her own hands reached back to touch the body behind her, in any way. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts out pleadingly that they might be touched only to find Rune's attentions shift carefully to move from her thigh up to her waist.

Rune watched appreciatively from her vantage point as her own two hands conducted this beautiful music of passion across the frame of this exquisitely beautiful woman in her arms. The unique taste belonging solely to Narcissa was painted in the flesh of her lips, on her tongue and dancing in her nostrils; it was an intoxicating harmony to her senses. How she bucked now beneath her was so enticing, and irresistible. But the Master smiled into Narcissa's neck and attended her passionately once more, committed to memorizing every last inch she could conquer.

Narcissa was writhing now in earnest, pressing the back of her fully against Rune, desperate for more of the sensation Rune produced over every place she seemed to touch. Her body felt so alive, as it never had before! Nothing like this in all of the years she had lain for her Lord had such an experience been hers, that she felt positively ravenous for more. _More, more more!_ The word thundered in her mind.

Rune could sense Narcissa's impatience in the frantic motions of her hands over Rune's cheeks, her arms, her hair. Anything Narcissa could get her hands on from behind her. And thus, Rune moved her hands slowly over the layer of paltry fabric that separated the two of them. She peeled what remained of the dress from her companions delectably slim shoulders and eased it to a nearby chair, mindful to take care of the Lady's fine attires. Swaying her hips, she guided Narcissa from behind in slow steps as she glided her hands over her ribs, just barely touching the underside of Narcissa's soft breasts, moving her towards the bed. For even as much enjoyment as Rune took in lavishing this beautiful woman's body standing behind it, she wanted more of her still.

Coming just to the edge of the bed, Rune used a quick and graceful step to turn Narcissa to face her, and claim her soft lips with her own. Her tongue whetting Narcissa's as she dipped her tongue within her, licking, playing, coaxing and dancing with every movement. The woman groaned openly and wrapped her arms around Rune's shoulders as she hummed against Rune's tongue. _Oh, the sound of this woman!_ Rune thought as she wrapped her arms around her Lady's slim waist, and pressed herself against the soft breasts. She could feel through her winter tunic how her nipples had hardened as part of the desire the coursed through her, and she ghosted her fingertips up her sides to wisp over their soft undersides.

The gasp that came from Narcissa echoed in Rune's mouth as she mimicked how she shaped her mouth when she did, licking the inner edges of her lips playfully. The Master inhaled deeply as her own body reacted to each thrust against her Narcissa made. Now pressed together, Narcissa unraveled her arms to find purchase at the edge of Rune's tunic and begin to seek beneath it. Her delicate hands found warm and soft flesh beneath, stretched over muscles Narcissa hadn't realized were hidden beneath.

Despite her inexperience, she was desperately curious and exhilarated by how delicious Rune's skin felt and marveled at how physically fit her body was under the winter clothes. The Lady smiled into Rune's kisses, and Rune pulled back as Narcissa's own hands reached further still up Rune's chest and grazed over long strips of cloth the Master used to bind herself down. Even through the many layers, Rune gasped in surprised as Narcissa surged forward to claim her kisses deeper, and rub her palms gently across Rune's bound breasts. The Master let out a strangled noise as she shuttered at how heavenly Narcissa's touch felt over her.

Her confidence aided by Rune's reaction, Narcissa made to try to slip the folds of cloth downward and find exposure to Rune's body, but Rune reached up gently and pulled her hands away, spurning her advances. Heaving with desire Narcissa made a small noise of protest in her mouth before Rune smiled, bringing up her palms and kissing them each in turn. Her brown hair had begun to come undone from the bound length behind her, and Narcissa felt the slick wetness between her legs pointedly as she watched how Rune's tongue slipped out to touch the flesh of her palms once, twice.

Rune's eyes were like storming skies, and Narcissa was flying in them without heed for any consequences. She freed her hand and touched Rune's cheek, drawing them close again. The feel of their soft bodies together as they pressed close once again was absolute heaven and Rune gently began to raise Narcissa's gown. Their eyes never faltering from the other, Rune paused as the hem reached her mid-thigh, and she paused as she waited for permission. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she nodded, and the rising hem revealed her body, inch by inch. Slipping her hands beneath, Rune slowly crouched down to use her fingertips up the side of Narcissa's legs. From her very ankles, to her calves, and thighs. She paused to swirl her touches over her hips, and over the dip of her waist. With her arms rose the fabric until it was up, up, up over her head and the cool air around them was all Narcissa could feel anymore.

Watching Narcissa's blue eyes, wide and bearing witness to every movement she made, she traced across the beautiful, unmarred skin of her bosom, dipping only slightly between her beasts. The Lady's eyes fluttered into her head and she dipped back slightly, and Rune leaned down to capture one pinked nipple in her mouth. Narcissa's hands were instantly at Rune's shoulders as she gasped and mewled her delight at how Rune suckled and licked with her mouth, and how the feeling travelled down to the depths of her core, between her legs where so much slickness had grown that she almost felt shame for the wantonness of it.

But all Rune did in response was lay her backward, gently on the expanse of bed that had been awaiting them. As she did, Rune straddled Narcissa's leg and her mouth wandered to Narcissa's other breast and she occupied her fingers with gently playing the freed nipple, causing her to writhe openly underneath her. The blonde's hips undulated gently in tempo to how Rune lavished her tongue around the little nub in her mouth, and Narcissa panted eagerly, soaking up every second of the sensation. Every one of her nerve endings was on fire! The touches from this woman were unlike anything she could have ever imagined, and she was spiraling deliciously out of control in the storm of Rune's embrace.

She found her hands moving into Rune's bound hair, pulling briefly at the long coil behind her back. Between pants, she managed to breathe out, "So many layers. How can a woman possibly experience you?" Her tone was teasing, and Rune chuckled with her mouth still full of Narcissa's flesh. She released it with a quiet pop and traced the areola with the very tip of her nose, murmuring into her skin.

"It is _you_ who are the experience." She whispered, and as she spoke to last word, she ghosted her fingertips through the slit of Narcissa's aching nether lips, and the woman under her gasped in shock at the intensity. Slowly, Rune traced the edges of her short hair, parting the lips just slightly with her fingertips to touch the wetness hidden within the soft folds. She raised her fingertips to her mouth and licked at the hint she had retrieved. She groaned deeply with enjoyment before she touched Narcissa again. Tenderly parting her lips as she swiped slowly from the bottom upward, and lapped again at her nipple.

Narcissa could barely contain herself as she panted, writhed and moved her hips in time with the gentle swipes to her nether lips as Rune slid herself upward, claiming her lips. As she did, she slid a finger expertly into Narcissa's aching channel, teasing her with a few gentle practice thrusts before she sheathed her digit fully within, eliciting a growling gasp from Narcissa as she did. Narcissa shot her hand to cup Rune's cheek as they kissed, and Rune slowly pumped the finger in and out of the hot cavity of her sex. Gently as she did, she slipped her thump upward to the where the folds met and sought the hidden pearl beneath.

Her fingers were so soft and the motion so smooth that within Narcissa's body a tightness began to creep into her, deep within her womb, and all around her skin was the tingling sensation of magic as Rune worked into her lover's body. Narcissa moaned deeply as she was consumed, inside in out, with raw pleasure.

Moving her hands down to Rune's shoulders she found purchase as she felt within her an urging pressure building that she couldn't quantify or decipher, but it was travelling upward into her body with each succulent stroke of Runes fingers. With each pump, their bodies moved together. Narcissa's hips keeping time. And when Rune added a second finger within in her, Narcissa let lose a groan that shot straight through Rune's own aching loins, and her kiss deepened incredibly as Narcissa neared closer to reaching her summit.

The sound of Rune's fingers as they fucked her made a slick sound that could be heard behind the panting kisses, and as she felt her legs begin to tighten involuntarily, she grabbed frantically at Rune's strong shoulders as her teeth clacking periodically with Rune's through her quickening kisses.

Spurred on by her impending orgasm, Rune broke from her lips long enough to give a gravelly whisper. "Look at me." She bade, and Narcissa's blue eyes fluttered open just as a wave of pleasure overtook her completely and the storm within Rune's eyes pulled her into them. Narcissa's moan was long, and loud, as her body was carried over the sweet edge of that tremendous pleasure. Rune watched every second of it as she did, witnessing her. She drank the sight of this heady act as her paramours hands grabbed at her shoulders, and her hips continued to buck as Rune slowed her pace down to ease her off from the pleasure.

Gasping for air, Narcissa's eyelids fluttered shut softly and she licked her lips as she came down from the high. Her soft skin was sticky with perspiration still as Rune leaned slightly away from her, removing her fingers from Narcissa gently and placed them into her mouth again, looking at her hungrily. The Lady couldn't help herself, and she laughed openly at her lover's boldness. Her smile brightened her face in a way Rune could only think to describe as dazzling. She smirked back, and leaned down to her nipple, and kissed it sensuously.

Narcissa moaned, her arms flopping above her head, her blond hair scattered all around her. She glanced down at the state they were in, atop the bed. Her naked body exposed in the air, and Rune's still completely covered. She rose an eyebrow as Rune progressively sucked and licked her nipple with more pressure. Her back arched as she breathed in the pleasure there, and sighed.

"How can you still be dressed, whilst I am so-" Rune used her free hand to play with the other nipple, watching as her fingers played gently with the pliable flesh and she hummed gently at her question.

"Simple: This is about you, not me." She stated, and licked a line down the curve of the flesh towards her ribs and Narcissa's back bowed as the sensation of pleasure followed those soft lips wherever they trailed across her skin. She moaned unabashedly and reached for Rune's face, pulling herself up to meet her and taste her mouth again. The taste of her own flower still on her lover's lips, and the skill of her tongue was utterly divine and Narcissa found herself wanting more, and more. She could drown happily in these kisses.

With the kisses to distract her, Narcissa deftly clasp the bottom of Rune's tunic and pulled upward to beg it from her body. Rune broke the kiss to stop her, only for Narcissa to soften and touch her cheek with a gentle plea. "Please?" She whispered, finding herself a little at a loss of words. "I- I want to feel you." The two stared at each other before the Master hesitantly nodded and allowed her partner to pull the thick fabric over her head to expose herself. Her chest was strong, and broad for a woman. Her arms muscled much like that of a man's, but still feminine and soft, but littered with a kaleidoscope of scars. Across her chest was a linen-like cloth, wrapped tightly over her breasts to flatten them, creating a barrier to the skin beneath. Narcissa frowned.

Rune's face was frozen in a neutral position, though laced with apprehension as Narcissa cautiously worked her fingertips over the expanse before her. Taking in the texture of it, how soft it was, admiring the shape of this person before her who had showed her such attentiveness in pleasuring her. She rose to her knees, as Rune was, and touched lightly again over her stomach, dipping her fingers playfully to the waistline of Rune's pants, her eyes darting up to watch as Rune's eyes fluttered and her breath hitched. As she traced Rune's hips she marveled at how well-made and solid this woman's body was. How strong the muscles were, and how attractive she found herself to it. She played with the ties of the wrapped belt Rune wore, and even though her breath caught, she claimed Narcissa's hands in her own to stop her from moving further, and raised the hands to her lips once more. Her previous confident smirk now melted away to leave wariness instead. She frowned, breaking away to brush strands of Rune's loose hair behind her ear in a tender gesture.

"Please?" She asked again and Rune closed her eyes a moment before she sighed.

"I cannot think of anything I desire more, Lady." She breathed, and Narcissa began to smile slyly as she made to touch her once more. Rune held her fast. "But I am afraid you would not enjoy what you find." Her eyes closed briefly at the statement, waiting for Narcissa to pull away. When she didn't, Narcissa nestled closer into Rune's body, her nakedness pressed firmly into her, allowing the expanse of her bare skin to touch Rune wherever it could. Her delicate fingers splayed just above Rune's bindings and she leaned in carefully to kiss Rune's jaw.

Rune's hands had fallen to her sides and her fists clenched futilely as her lover kissed her once again. Her fingers ran slowly down the cloth. "I want to feel more of you." She whispered, and Rune grimaced, finally raising her arms to cup Narcissa's elbows. "I want all of you." She exclaimed softly. When Rune made to pull away from her slightly, Narcissa frowned at how Rune shrank from her. "What is it you believe I will dislike?"

 _She had been so bold in the pursuit, but now that she was the pursued, she balked?_ Narcissa narrowed her blue eyes, and grabbed around Rune's waist and kissed her hungrily as she flipped the two of them over together, this time with Narcissa on top. Rune's mouth was occupied with hers, but she tried desperately to keep her partner from mounting her by trying to twist her hips away, but Narcissa planted herself firm and leaned toward her lover as she pressed her naked breasts against her.

But this was where she felt it, and she stilled for a moment and moved her hips across something long and hard jutting from the apex of her lover's legs. As she did, Rune broke the kiss completely, and turned her head to the side to look away as she sighed. Her eyes screwed tightly shut. Narcissa's eyebrows shot into her forehead as she pressed her hips downward upon her lover's and Rune hissed in inadvertent pleasure. She grabbed Narcissa firmly by the hips and bodily moved her to the side as she made to leave the bed.

Grasping desperately to her, Narcissa caught Rune's shoulders and held fast. "Wait! Please! Do not leave!" She begged, but Rune would not meet her eyes. Though she hadn't moved any further. Narcissa moved behind her, wrapping her arms around Rune's chest, tethering them together, and she kissed Rune's neck from the side. Rune's breaths were ragged then, bordering on panicked.

Leaning her cheek in to make contact Narcissa held her lover still, wrapping her knees at Rune's side, and silently holding her. It allowed Rune to collect herself before she touched Narcissa's arm, and leaned to face her. "I must go." She said solemnly, and Narcissa moved back a fraction.

"After all this, you would presume me to reject you?" She asked with a soft voice, and Rune shook her head without speaking. Narcissa held tight onto her and moved herself around Runes body to straddle her lap, her hair all across her shoulders and her skin still flushed from her earlier orgasm.

Rune grimaced slightly, moving her mouth for a moment without speaking until Narcissa touched her jaw. "I can decide for myself what I like, and do not." She said, seeing how Rune's expression moved from unsure to guarded once again. She leaned in and kissed her once again, and found Rune's strong arms moving around her waist to grab her close and pull them together. It was warm, and safe.

"This is different." Rune said between her kisses, trying to lean away from the nips by Narcissa as she gasped when her lover continued to twine her tongue.

"I want you, Rune." Narcissa whispered. "I want you like nothing I've ever wanted." She confessed, bringing Rune's hands to her naked breasts, sighing with her as the fingers played gently over her flesh in such a way that made her hips thrust. She groaned as Rune tugged gently on her nipples and arched herself to her lover, inviting her in for more. Rune obliged with her mouth and licked her das Narcissa ran her hands over Rune's soft hair. "Ooooh, yesssss." She hissed with pleasure, and rocked her hips deep into the recesses of Rune's to rediscover what her lover so feared she would abhor.

Shyly, Rune pushed her hips upward to give Narcissa friction, and she felt again a hardness that should not have otherwise been there. The blonde pushed Rune back gently and their eyes locked. The woman slid lower down Rune's thighs and began to undo the thick belt there, the knot coming loose and Narcissa unwound the layers wrapped around her lover's midsection. The belt gone, she untied the straps at the waist and gently worked the trousers downward over Rune's hips, only to have the fabric of them catch on something distinctively characteristic of a _man._

As it appeared slowly beneath her pants, Narcissa felt herself gasp in surprise at it was revealed. Nested in groomed hair, was a hard and silken cock. She glanced up at her lover's face, her expression of shock very plain to see that Rune's face was still turned to the side, her eyes scrunched together. Narcissa softened and continued to peel down the pants from her lover tenderly, lowering them to the floor. As she rose, she hovered above Rune and ran her hand gently up the soft length of her lover and followed with a whispering breath as she ghosted her lips over the length of the shaft.

From the bed above, her lover let out a guttural moan of pleasure as Narcissa carefully touched the shaft with soft fingertips, followed after again with the hint of her mouth hovering over it.

"Oh, Great Shadows." Rune moaned and her own body flexed as Narcissa traced the tip of her tongue now over Rune's rock-hard length. It was all she could stand, it seemed, and Narcissa found herself suddenly being pulled upward as Rune guided her to her lap, taking her cheeks in her palms and kissing her with such a fervent passion that it nearly stole Narcissa's breath away. Rune's mouth worked desperately to consume as much as Narcissa would give, and from the undulating of their bodies, and raggedness of their breath, it was positively thunderous between them.

Reaching down, Narcissa touched once more at the length of Rune that had gotten caught between them and stroked her lover again firmly. Rune's breath halted a moment as Narcissa ran the tip through her still-wet lower lips. Narcissa caught Rune's gaze in her own, her blue eyes determined and yet Rune's were laced with what she thought was fear.

Narcissa sank slowly down the length of it, and claimed Rune's lips in her own as she cried out in pleasure as she was covered in Narcissa's perfect silken heat. The girth of her lovers cock filled her so deliciously that Narcissa was unsure how she had ever lived without knowing what pleasure like this was like. She had _never_ mounted her Lord, but merely lay beneath him. And now she did so eagerly to her lover.

She rose her hips up slowly to move along the hardness within her, up and down. Her palms cupping Runes face as she kissed her, she felt wetness on Rune's cheeks and opened her eyes to see lines of tears while she moved up and down on that thick cock inside her. Rune could feel the pulsating pleasure all over her body and without thinking she allowed that pleasure to push out from all around her, her magic sharing it with Narcissa.

The Lady kissed those wet tracks as she bobbed up and down gracefully and Rune's magic; shadowy and foreign, wrapped around her body to envelope her. Narcissa lapped hungrily at her lover's lips and the gasps that fell from them.

Rune's hands gripped her hips as the pleasure rode over her in waves, and she punctuating each downward motion by thrusting upward so that their naked skin slapped together. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, and Rune moaned lowly in the back of her throat. She pulled from the kisses to capture a bouncing nipple into her mouth and suck it with a little more force. Narcissa's head fell back as she gasped and her hips writhed atop Rune's lap.

The brown haired woman groaned in pleasure as her lover atop her drove up and down, raining pleasure all over her body. Rune wrapped her arms around Narcissa and lavished her breasts with intermittent suckling and licking that had the Lady gasping and faltering as she moved up and down.

Rune broke free of her lover's body and wet her thumb with as much saliva as she could, and reached down between their bodies to seek out the most sensitive place between her lover's thighs. Her fingers were deft in their journey, and the second she touched it, the Lady gasp and slowed her pace as it was stroked. Rune nestled her face beneath Narcissa's jaw and suckled passionately at her as she worked gently on the tender button.

As equally as being inside Narcissa's silky channel brought her wave after wave of pleasure, her ministrations to Narcissa's reawakening nub also made keeping her rhythm of thrusting difficult. The consistent and perfectly tempered strokes along Narcissa's delicate little organ sung through her deliciously aching hips as her up and down motion continued to falter. For every time she rose she fought against her muscles as the pleasure rose higher and higher, to keep her thighs from snapping shut.

Sensing her lovers impending climax, Rune steadied herself and using her core she thrust up into Narcissa as she continued to stroke her, steadying her rhythms for her lovers delight.

As the brink came ever-nearer, Narcissa couldn't help but arch her back as she moaned into the room with abandon. The darkness of Rune's magic touching every last piece of her senses with the uniquely spicy smell, and how it plucked at her insides so that her impending climax began to amplify that Narcissa's eyes screwed shut as she cried out "Oh Gods, yes! Oh yes please!"

Rune never slowed herself, but thrust again and again at her lovers cries, deepening her penetration. She fought with her own building waves that were creating a full body tension that ensnared every fiber of her being. The warmth and wet of their sex all over her lap, and the heat of Narcissa stroking up and down: it intoxicated her utterly and as the beautiful blond came gloriously undone in her arms, screaming and bucking in her pleasure, so too did Rune as she finally let herself tumble into the oblivion with her.

As the pair came down from the soaring heights of their pleasure, Narcissa opened her eyes at the room around them, and the slight in her arms. Her lovers brown was dotted with sweat from the exertions of pleasure, and her hair had come undone in many places, so that exceedingly long strands tickled Narcissa's breast and danced around Rune's shoulders. Though moistened with sweat, it was incredibly soft. And now that she looked at it, was shot through here and there with the signs of an early silver. In the glow of such pleasure, she smiled despite herself. She lay a kiss to Rune's temple and the Master chuckled, her arms still wrapped well around the Lady's slim waist.

Slowly Narcissa stroked the strong arms and considered the complexion, in contrast to her own peachy pale skin. Rune's arms were strong in a way Narcissa's could never be, and she felt so _safe_ within them, and so comfortable, that it was strange to her.

Their bodies cooling, Rune released her and leaned back slowly, raking her palms over her face as she sprawled down. Narcissa unseated herself, with a squishy noise from between their joined bodies as she unseated herself from the now-flaccid member, and lay down beside her. She trailed her soft nails over the still-bound chest of her lover, pulling at the tips of the cloth at random intervals, and looking at Rune's face with an expectant expression.

Rune shot her a look from the corner of her eye. "What?" Narcissa asked defensively and Rune sighed, raising on her elbows as she looked like she was going to respond. "Clearly I found _something_ I liked, did I not?" She teased, and traced her finger over where Rune's nipple might have been.

The reaction was exactly what Narcissa was hoping for, because Rune's blue gray eyes fluttered and her stomach muscles clenched. The sight, though surprising, Narcissa had to admit, was stunning. Rune grabbed the wrist of her exploring hand and rolled over on top of Narcissa once again. Narcissa Smirked playfully as the member between them seemed eager to provide once again, if its quickening hardness was anything to go by.

"Then you will definitely like what I have planned for you next." The darker haired woman said and as Narcissa made to kiss her, Rune pushed her body upward as her wet tongue caught a part of her hip as its wielder made her way downward. As before, Rune's magic spread all over her, covering her skin in a dark and smoky sensation that lit her nerve endings on fire, and keyed her sensitive sex immediately. It whispered pleasure from all around her with little voices she couldn't discern. She arched into Rune then, completely bespelled in her the cocoon of her new lover.

Narcissa gasped as Rune wrapped one arm under her hips and used the other to tease her lovers lower lips. "Oh, my Gods!" Narcissa hissed, almost weeping as her sex was licked by Rune's soft wet tongue. From between her thighs Rune smiled.

"I'll be happy enough when it is my name on your tongue when you scream, my delight."

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